One morning in early May, I stood in front of the steel safe in my bedroom and placed the jeweled golden crown on my head.
The diamonds caught the sunlight and flashed like fire. The heavy gold circlet seemed to burn around my forehead like a halo.
At once, I remembered Camilla’s terrible scream and those horrible words that had echoed through the dark streets of Carcosa.
They were the last words of the first act.
I dared not think about what came next.
Even in the warm spring sunlight, surrounded by the familiar things in my own room, with servants moving about in the hallway and the ordinary sounds of the city coming through the windows, I could not escape those poisoned words.
They had entered my heart slowly, like drops of deathly sweat sinking into a sheet.
I took the crown off and wiped my forehead.
Then I thought of Hastur.
I thought of my birthright.
I thought of Mr. Wilde as I had last seen him, his face ripped open and covered in blood by the claws of that monstrous creature.
And I remembered what he had told me.
What he had said—
Ah, what he had said.
The alarm inside the safe suddenly began to shriek.
My time was almost up.
But I ignored it.
I put the crown back on and faced the mirror defiantly.
For a long time, I stared at my own reflection.
The face looking back at me seemed to be mine, yet it was much paler and thinner. I could barely recognize myself.
My eyes kept changing as I watched them.
Between clenched teeth, I whispered again and again:
“The day has come.”
“The day has come.”
The alarm continued to scream behind me.
The diamonds above my brow glittered like living flames.
I heard a door open.
I ignored it.
Then I saw two faces in the mirror.
Another face had appeared over my shoulder.
Another pair of eyes was staring directly into mine.
I spun around and grabbed the long knife from my dressing table.
My cousin jumped backward, his face suddenly white.
“Hildred! For God’s sake!”
My hand dropped slightly.
“It is me, Louis. Don’t you recognize me?”
I stood there without moving.
I could not have spoken if my life depended on it.
Louis stepped forward and gently took the knife from my hand.
“What is going on?” he asked. “Are you sick?”
“No.”
I doubt he even heard me.
“Come on, old fellow.”
He laughed.
“Take off that brass crown and come into the study. Are you going to a masquerade? What is all this theatrical nonsense?”
I was secretly pleased that he thought the crown was cheap brass and paste.
At the same time, I resented him for thinking so.
I allowed him to take it from me.
He tossed the magnificent crown into the air, caught it, and grinned.
“It isn’t worth more than fifty cents,” he said. “What is it supposed to be?”
I said nothing.
I took the crown from him, placed it inside the safe, and shut the heavy steel door.
The terrible alarm stopped immediately.
Louis watched me with curiosity.
He did not seem to notice that the alarm had suddenly stopped.
He called the safe a biscuit box.
I did not want him examining the combination, so I led him into my study.
Louis dropped onto the sofa and began lazily snapping his riding whip at the flies.
He was wearing his military uniform, with its braided jacket and jaunty cap. His riding boots were covered in red mud.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“Jumping mud creeks in Jersey.”
He stretched his legs.
“I haven’t even had time to change. I was in a hurry to see you. Haven’t you got something to drink? I’m exhausted. I’ve been in the saddle for twenty-four hours.”
I poured him some brandy from my medicine cabinet.
He drank it and made a face.
“Terrible stuff.”
He shook his head.
“I’ll give you the name of a place that sells real brandy.”
“It’s good enough for me.”
I shrugged.
“I only use it for rubbing my chest.”
He stared at me for a moment, then lazily flicked at another fly.
“Listen, old fellow. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
He leaned back.
“You’ve been hiding in this house for four years now. You never go anywhere. You never exercise. You do nothing except sit here reading those books.”
His eyes moved toward the shelves.
“Napoleon. Napoleon. Napoleon.”
He laughed.
“For heaven’s sake, Hildred. Don’t you own anything except books about Napoleon?”
“I wish they were bound in gold.”
Then I pointed toward another volume.
“But there is one more book.”
His eyes followed mine.
“The King in Yellow.“
I looked directly at him.
“Have you ever read it?”
“Me?”
He immediately shook his head.
“No. Thank God. I don’t want to go insane.”
The moment the word left his mouth, I saw that he regretted saying it.
There was one word I hated more than “lunatic.”
“Crazy.”
I forced myself to remain calm.
“Why do you think The King in Yellow is dangerous?”
“I don’t know.”
He spoke quickly.
“I only remember the trouble it caused. The newspapers condemned it. Preachers denounced it. Everyone was talking about it.”
He hesitated.
“Didn’t the author kill himself after publishing that monstrosity?”
“I understand he is still alive.”
“Perhaps.”
Louis frowned.
“Bullets probably can’t kill a devil like that.”
“It is a book of great truths.”
“Truths?”
He laughed bitterly.
“Truths that drive men mad and destroy their lives. I don’t care if it is supposed to be the highest form of art. Writing such a thing was a crime. I’ll never open it.”
“Is that why you came here?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“I came to tell you that I’m getting married.”
For one terrible moment, I thought my heart had stopped.
But I kept looking at him.
“Yes,” he continued happily. “I’m marrying the sweetest girl in the world.”
“Constance Hawberk.”
The words came out of my mouth automatically.
Louis stared at me.
“How did you know?”
He laughed in surprise.
“I didn’t even know myself until that evening last April. We were walking along the embankment before dinner, and suddenly I realized it.”
“When is the wedding?”
“It was supposed to be next September.”
His smile faded slightly.
“But an hour ago we received orders. Our regiment is being sent to the Presidio in San Francisco.”
He looked almost ridiculously happy.
“We leave tomorrow at noon.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
“Think of it, Hildred. Tomorrow I’ll be the happiest man alive because Constance is coming with me.”
I offered him my hand.
He shook it enthusiastically, like the cheerful fool he was—or pretended to be.
“I’m getting my squadron as a wedding present,” he said.
Then he laughed.
“Captain and Mrs. Louis Castaigne. What do you think of that, Hildred?”
He told me all about the wedding.
Where it would take place.
Who would attend.
And he made me promise to be his best man.
I clenched my teeth and listened to his childish excitement without letting him see what I felt.
I was reaching the limit of my endurance.
When he finally stood up, his spurs jingling as he moved, I did not try to stop him.
“There is one thing I want from you,” I said quietly.
“Name it. If it’s reasonable, you’ve already got my promise.”
“I want you to meet me tonight. I need fifteen minutes of your time.”
“Of course.”
He looked puzzled.
“Where?”
“Somewhere in the park.”
“What time?”
“Midnight.”
“What the—”
He stopped himself and laughed.
“All right. Midnight.”
I watched him go down the stairs and hurry away, his sabre striking against his leg with every step.
He turned into Bleecker Street.
I knew exactly where he was going.
To see Constance.
I waited ten minutes.
Then I followed him.
I carried the jeweled crown with me, along with the white silk robe embroidered with the Yellow Sign.
When I reached Bleecker Street, I entered the doorway marked:
MR. WILDE,
REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS.
THIRD BELL.
Old Hawberk was moving around inside his shop.
I thought I heard Constance’s voice coming from the parlor.
I avoided both of them and hurried up the trembling stairs to Mr. Wilde’s apartment.
I knocked once and entered.
Mr. Wilde was lying on the floor, groaning.
His face was covered with blood.
His clothes had been torn to pieces.
Blood was scattered across the carpet, which was ripped and frayed from what must have been a violent struggle.
“It’s that damned cat,” he said.
He stopped groaning and looked at me with pale, exhausted eyes.
“She attacked me while I was asleep. I swear she’ll kill me one day.”
That was enough.
I went into the kitchen, grabbed a hatchet from the pantry, and went looking for the beast.
I searched everywhere.
Nothing.
Eventually I gave up and returned to the study.
Mr. Wilde was sitting on his high chair beside the table.
He had washed his face and changed his clothes.
The deep scratches across his face had been filled with collodion, and a piece of cloth covered the wound in his throat.
“I’ll kill that cat when I find her,” I told him.
He only shook his head.
Then he returned his attention to the ledger lying open before him.
He read name after name.
These were people who had come to him for help repairing their reputations.
The amount of money he had accumulated was astonishing.
“I tighten the screws once in a while,” he explained.
“One of these people will murder you eventually.”
“Do you really think so?”
He rubbed what remained of his mutilated ears.
There was no point arguing with him.
I reached for the manuscript titled Imperial Dynasty of America.
It would be the last time I ever took it down from that shelf in Mr. Wilde’s study.
I read it from beginning to end.
Every page thrilled me.
When I finished, Mr. Wilde took the manuscript from me.
He looked toward the dark passage leading to his bedroom.
“Vance!”
For the first time, I noticed a man crouching in the shadows.
I could not understand how I had failed to see him while searching for the cat.
“Vance. Come here.”
The man slowly stood.
He crept toward us.
I will never forget the face he lifted into the light.
“Vance,” Mr. Wilde said, “this is Mr. Castaigne.”
Before he could say anything else, the man collapsed onto the floor.
“Oh, God!”
He clawed at the carpet.
“My God, help me!”
He looked at me desperately.
“Forgive me!”
Then he pointed toward Mr. Wilde.
“Keep that man away from me!”
“You can’t. You can’t mean it!”
He stared at me.
“You’re different. You can save me!”
His voice shook.
“I’m finished. I was in an insane asylum, but I was getting better. Everything was finally getting better. I had forgotten the King.”
He began to sob.
“The King in Yellow.”
He shook violently.
“But now I’ll go mad again.”
His voice became a whisper.
“I’ll go mad again.”
Suddenly Mr. Wilde lunged at him.
His right hand closed around Vance’s throat.
Vance collapsed.
Mr. Wilde climbed back into his chair as calmly as if nothing had happened.
He rubbed his ruined ears with the stump of his hand.
“Give me the ledger.”
I took it from the shelf and handed it to him.
He searched through the beautifully written pages.
Then he smiled.
“Vance.”
He pointed to the entry.
“Osgood Oswald Vance.”
At the sound of his name, the man on the floor raised his head.
His face was twisted with terror.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His lips were swollen.
Mr. Wilde read aloud.
“Called April twenty-eighth. Occupation: cashier at the Seaforth National Bank. Previously convicted of forgery and served a sentence at Sing Sing. Later transferred to the Asylum for the Criminal Insane.”
Vance trembled.
“Pardoned by the Governor of New York and released from the asylum on January nineteenth, 1918.”
Mr. Wilde continued.
“Reputation damaged at Sheepshead Bay. Rumors that he lives beyond his income. Reputation must be repaired immediately. Retainer: fifteen hundred dollars.”
He turned the page.
“Note: Has stolen thirty thousand dollars since March twentieth, 1919. Comes from an excellent family and obtained his current position through his uncle’s influence. Father is president of the Seaforth Bank.”
I stared down at Vance.
“Get up.”
Mr. Wilde’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
Vance rose as though someone had pulled invisible strings.
“He’ll do exactly what we tell him now,” Mr. Wilde said.
He opened the manuscript.
Then he began reading the entire history of the Imperial Dynasty of America.
Afterward, he patiently explained what it meant.
Vance stood there as if he had been struck senseless.
His eyes were empty.
For a moment I thought his mind had completely collapsed.
I mentioned it to Mr. Wilde.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied.
We explained Vance’s role in our plans.
Slowly, he seemed to understand.
Mr. Wilde supported his conclusions with several books on heraldry.
He spoke of the dynasty’s origin in Carcosa.
He explained the lakes that connected Hastur, Aldebaran, and the mystery of the Hyades.
He spoke of Cassilda and Camilla.
He spoke of Demhe and the Lake of Hali.
“The torn robes of the King in Yellow must conceal Yhtill forever,” he murmured.
I doubt Vance understood a word.
Then Mr. Wilde traced the complicated branches of the Imperial family.
He spoke of Uoht and Thale.
Of Naotalba.
Of the Phantom of Truth.
Of Aldones.
Finally, he threw the manuscript and his notes aside.
His voice changed.
He began telling the story of the Last King.
I watched him, fascinated.
He lifted his head.
His long arms stretched outward in a magnificent gesture of authority.
His eyes burned deep inside their sockets like emeralds.
Vance listened in stunned silence.
And when Mr. Wilde finally finished, he pointed at me.
“The cousin of the King!”
My head swam with excitement.
I forced myself to remain calm.
Then I explained to Vance why I alone deserved the crown.
I told him why Louis had to be exiled—or killed.
I made him understand that Louis could never marry.
Not even if he surrendered every claim to the throne.
Above all, he could never marry Constance Hawberk, the daughter of the Marquis of Avonshire.
That marriage would bring England into the matter.
I showed Vance a list containing thousands of names.
Mr. Wilde had prepared it.
Every person on the list had received the Yellow Sign.
And no living man could ignore that sign.
The city was ready.
The state was ready.
The entire country was ready.
They only needed someone to command them.
The time had come.
The people would learn the truth about the son of Hastur.
The whole world would bow before the black stars hanging above Carcosa.
Vance leaned against the table and buried his face in his hands.
Mr. Wilde grabbed yesterday’s Herald and drew a rough map in the margin.
It showed Hawberk’s apartment.
Then he wrote out the order.
He pressed his seal onto it.
My hands were shaking as I signed it.
Hildred-Rex.
It was my first order of execution.
Mr. Wilde climbed down from his chair.
He unlocked a cabinet and removed a long, square box.
Inside was a brand-new knife wrapped in tissue paper.
I picked it up.
Then I handed it to Vance together with the order and the map of Hawberk’s apartment.
Mr. Wilde dismissed him.
Vance left.
He shuffled away like a broken man crawling out of some forgotten slum.
I remained there for a while.
Through the window, I watched the daylight disappear behind the square tower of the Judson Memorial Church.
At last, I gathered the manuscript and notes.
I put on my hat and went to the door.
Mr. Wilde said nothing.
I stepped into the hallway.
Then I looked back.
His small eyes were still fixed on me.
Behind him, the shadows were growing longer as the daylight faded.
I closed the door.
Then I walked into the darkening streets.
I had eaten nothing since breakfast.
Yet I felt no hunger.
A miserable, half-starved man standing across the street from the Lethal Chamber saw me.
He came over and told me his story of misery.
I gave him some money.
I did not know why.
He walked away without thanking me.
An hour later, another homeless man approached.
He began telling me his troubles.
I had a blank piece of paper in my pocket.
The Yellow Sign had been drawn on it.
I handed it to him.
He stared at the mark without understanding.
Then he looked at me uncertainly.
Very carefully, almost reverently, he folded the paper and put it inside his coat.
The electric lights glittered among the trees.
The new moon hung above the Lethal Chamber.
Waiting in the square became unbearable.
I wandered from the Marble Arch to the artillery stables, then back toward the fountain.
The flowers and grass gave off a sweet scent that made me uneasy.
Moonlight shimmered on the fountain.
The falling water reminded me of the faint sound of chained armor in Hawberk’s shop.
But it was not the same.
It did not fascinate me.
The moonlight on the water gave me none of the exquisite pleasure I had felt when sunlight danced across the polished steel of a breastplate resting on Hawberk’s knee.
I watched bats darting above the fountain.
Their sudden movements irritated my nerves.
I walked away.
The artillery stables were dark.
But the cavalry barracks were brightly lit.
Soldiers moved in and out of the side gate, carrying straw, harnesses, and baskets filled with metal dishes.
Twice, the mounted sentry at the main gate was replaced while I walked along the asphalt path.
I checked my watch.
Almost time.
One by one, the lights in the barracks went out.
The gate was locked.
Every few minutes, an officer entered through the smaller side gate.
His spurs and equipment rattled in the silence.
The square became almost completely still.
The last homeless people had been driven away by the park policeman.
The streetcar tracks along Wooster Street were empty.
The only sounds were the sentry’s horse stamping its feet and the occasional ring of a sabre against the saddle.
The officers’ quarters were still lit.
Military servants moved back and forth behind the large windows.
Then the clock in the new spire of St. Francis Xavier began to strike midnight.
At the final stroke, a figure stepped through the gate.
He saluted the sentry, crossed the street, entered the square, and walked toward the Benedick apartment house.
“Louis!”
The man turned sharply.
Then he walked toward me.
“Hildred?”
“You’re on time.”
He took my hand.
We walked toward the Lethal Chamber.
Louis talked endlessly about his wedding.
He praised Constance’s beauty, her kindness, and everything they would do together after they arrived in San Francisco.
He showed me his captain’s shoulder straps.
He pointed out the three gold decorations on his sleeve and cap.
I listened to him, but I was also listening to the sound of his spurs and sabre.
Eventually, we reached the elms on the Fourth Street corner of the square.
We stood opposite the Lethal Chamber.
Louis laughed.
“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”
I pointed toward a bench beneath an electric light.
“Sit.”
He sat down.
I took the place beside him.
He looked at me carefully.
It was the same searching look I hated so much in doctors.
I felt insulted.
He did not realize it.
I hid my anger.
“Well, old chap?”
He smiled.
“What can I do for you?”
I pulled the manuscript and notes about the Imperial Dynasty of America from my pocket.
I looked directly into his eyes.
“I’ll tell you.”
I handed him the manuscript.
“On your word as a soldier, promise me that you will read this from beginning to end without asking me a single question.”
He nodded.
“All right.”
“Promise you’ll read these notes the same way.”
“I promise.”
“And promise you’ll listen to everything I tell you afterward.”
“I promise, if that’s what you want.”
He took the manuscript.
“Give it to me.”
He began reading.
At first, his eyebrows rose in confusion.
That expression made my anger burn.
As he continued, his eyebrows drew together.
His lips moved silently.
I could almost hear him thinking:
Rubbish.
Soon he looked bored.
But for my sake, he continued.
Then he reached his own name.
He stopped.
His face changed.
When he found my name, he lowered the manuscript and stared sharply at me.
I said nothing.
He kept his promise and continued reading.
At last he reached Mr. Wilde’s signature.
He folded the manuscript carefully and handed it back.
I gave him the notes.
He leaned back and pushed his cap up on his forehead.
The gesture reminded me of him as a boy at school.
I watched his face while he read.
When he finished, I took the notes and manuscript from him.
Then I pulled out a scroll marked with the Yellow Sign.
Louis looked at it.
He did not seem to recognize it.
“What do you think this is?” I demanded.
He shrugged.
“I see it. What is it?”
“The Yellow Sign.”
“Oh.”
His voice became strangely gentle.
“That’s the Yellow Sign, is it?”
It was the same patronizing tone Dr. Archer had once used with me.
The same tone he would probably have used again if I had not settled his affairs the previous night.
I forced down my anger.
“Listen to me.”
Louis nodded.
“I’m listening.”
I began calmly.
“Dr. Archer discovered the secret of the Imperial Succession. He tried to steal my rightful position.”
Louis’s expression became serious.
“He claimed that I had become mentally defective after falling from my horse four years ago.”
I clenched my fists.
“He had me confined in his own house. He intended either to drive me insane or poison me.”
I looked into Louis’s eyes.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
Louis said nothing.
“I visited him last night.”
I smiled.
“The matter is finished.”
Louis went pale.
I continued.
“There are three people left who must be dealt with for Mr. Wilde’s sake and mine.”
I raised one finger.
“My cousin Louis.”
Another.
“Mr. Hawberk.”
Then another.
“His daughter, Constance.”
Louis suddenly stood.
I stood with him.
I threw the paper bearing the Yellow Sign onto the ground.
“I don’t need that paper to explain what happens next.”
I laughed.
“You must surrender the crown to me.”
Louis stared at me.
“The crown?”
“Yes.”
He seemed completely bewildered.
“Of course I’ll surrender it.”
He smiled gently.
“But what exactly am I surrendering?”
“The crown!”
“All right.”
He nodded.
“I renounce it.”
Then he gestured toward the street.
“Come on. I’ll walk you back to your rooms.”
“Don’t use your doctor’s tricks on me!”
My whole body was shaking.
“Don’t pretend you think I’m insane.”
“What nonsense.”
He sounded almost amused.
“Come on, Hildred. It’s late.”
“No!”
I shouted.
“You will listen to me.”
Louis stopped.
“You cannot marry Constance.”
He stared at me.
“I forbid it.”
My voice rose.
“Do you hear me? I forbid it!”
I stepped closer.
“You will surrender the crown. In return, I will allow you to live in exile.”
Louis opened his mouth.
“But if you refuse—”
I drew my long knife.
“—you will die.”
He tried to calm me.
But I was beyond reason.
I told him exactly what would happen to Dr. Archer.
They would find him in the cellar with his throat cut open.
Then I laughed when I thought about Vance, the knife, and the order I had signed.
“You are the King!”
I shouted.
“But I will be King!”
Louis stood frozen.
“Who are you to stop me?”
My voice echoed through the square.
“I was born the cousin of a king!”
I raised the knife.
“But I will be King!”
Suddenly, someone came running up Fourth Street.
The man rushed through the gates of the Lethal Chamber.
He crossed the path at full speed and disappeared through the bronze doors.
He was screaming like a madman.
I began laughing.
Then I recognized him.
Vance.
And suddenly I understood.
Hawberk and Constance were no longer standing in my way.
“Go!” I shouted at Louis.
“You are no longer a threat.”
He stared at me.
“You will never marry Constance now.”
I laughed.
“And if you marry anyone else while you’re in exile, I’ll visit you the same way I visited my doctor.”
Louis looked horrified.
“Mr. Wilde will take care of you tomorrow.”
I turned and ran toward South Fifth Avenue.
Behind me, Louis shouted.
Then I heard him coming after me.
He was running as fast as he could.
At the corner of Bleecker Street, he was almost on top of me.
I rushed through the doorway beneath Hawberk’s sign.
“Halt!”
Louis shouted.
“Or I’ll fire!”
I kept running up the stairs.
Louis stopped.
Then I heard him pounding on Hawberk’s door below.
He shouted and hammered at it again and again, as though the dead themselves might answer him.
Mr. Wilde’s door was open.
I rushed inside.
“It is done!”
I shouted.
“It is done!”
I laughed wildly.
“Let the nations rise and behold their King!”
But Mr. Wilde was nowhere to be seen.
I went to the cabinet.
I opened it.
The magnificent crown was still there.
I took it out.
Then I put on the white silk robe embroidered with the Yellow Sign.
Finally, I placed the crown upon my head.
At last, I was King.
King by right of Hastur.
King because I knew the mystery of the Hyades.
King because my mind had reached into the deepest secrets of the Lake of Hali.
I was King.
At dawn, the whole world would change.
The first gray light of morning would bring a storm that would shake both hemispheres.
I stood there trembling with joy.
Every nerve in my body was stretched to its limit.
Then I heard a low groan from the dark passage.
I grabbed a candle and rushed toward the door.
The cat suddenly shot past me like a demon.
The candle went out.
I swung my knife.
It moved faster than the animal.
A shriek tore through the darkness.
My knife had found her.
For a moment, I listened as she crashed and struggled in the passage.
Then everything became silent.
I lit a lamp.
I raised it above my head.
Mr. Wilde was lying on the floor.
His throat had been torn open.
At first, I thought he was dead.
Then I saw something.
A faint green light appeared in his sunken eyes.
His mutilated hand trembled.
His mouth slowly stretched into a terrible grin.
For one brief moment, my terror disappeared.
Hope returned.
I bent over him.
His eyes rolled completely around in their sockets.
Then he died.
I stood there in shock.
My crown.
My empire.
My future.
Every ambition I had ever held.
My entire life.
Everything lay dead with him.
Then they came.
They grabbed me from behind.
They tied me down so tightly that the veins stood out on my arms like ropes.
I screamed.
I fought.
I raged.
Blood ran from my wounds.
More than one policeman felt my teeth sink into his flesh.
But they kept coming.
When I could no longer move, they surrounded me.
Then I saw old Hawberk.
Behind him stood Louis.
His face was pale and horrifying.
And farther away, standing in the corner, was Constance.
She was quietly crying.
Then I understood.
“Ah!”
I screamed.
“Now I see!”
“You have taken the throne!”
“You have taken the empire!”
I struggled against the ropes.
“Woe to you!”
“Woe to all of you who wear the crown of the King in Yellow!”