In the Court of the Yellow King by Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, Gary McMahon, C.J. Henderson, William Meikle, T.E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris Page A
Authors: Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, Gary McMahon, C.J. Henderson, William Meikle, T.E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris
Tags: Lovecraft, cthulhu mythos, Mark Rainey, Yellow Sign, Lucy Snyder, William Meikle, Brian Sammons, Tim Curran, Jeffrey Thomas, King in Yellow, Chambers, Robert Price, True Detective
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spectral city of Carcosa, which existed somewhere beyond the Lake of Hali.
One day, a stranger wearing a pallid mask appeared in Hastur. To Cassilda’s horror, he also bore on his garment a representation of the Yellow Sign, a bizarre pattern rendered “in no human script.” The queen’s high priest, Naotalba, declared the stranger the embodiment of the Phantom of Truth, an agent of the King in Yellow. The stranger, however, explained that he was an ally of Hastur, who could wear the Yellow Sign with impunity because the pallid mask concealed his identity even from the all-powerful King. His purpose, he claimed, was to end the stalemate with Alar, for any kingdom that could bear the Yellow Sign as its standard would be invincible. To make this possible, he suggested Cassilda put on a “masque,” wherein the attendees themselves would wear pallid masks in the presence of the Yellow Sign. At the appointed hour, they would unmask and find that the Yellow Sign no longer held power over them.
Despite suspecting treachery, Cassilda believed the gamble worthwhile, for no matter its outcome, the conflict with Alar would end. Act 2 opened with the masked ball in progress, with Cassilda and all members of her court wearing pallid masks. At the sound of a gong, all removed their masks — all except the stranger, who then revealed that he wore no mask at all. He had deceived them so that Alar, not Hastur, might emerge victorious from the endless war.
Suddenly, with a cry of “Yhtill!” — a word meaning “stranger” — the King in Yellow appeared. Taller than two men, garbed in flowing, tattered, golden robes, the King struck down the faceless stranger, proclaiming himself a living god who was not to be mocked. He told Cassilda that Hastur would prevail over Alar, but with a heavy price: from that moment on, every inhabitant of Hastur, including Cassilda, would wear a pallid mask.
Cassilda, regaining her regal manner for the first time in eons, approached the King and boldly refused to accept his terms.
And there the script ended.
There was clearly more to the final scene. Whoever had collated this copy, Kathryn decided, was anything but thorough at his or her job.
Something in the script had seized Kathryn’s attention and, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, sent her mind reeling, as if gripped by vertigo. She flipped back through the pages until she found the passage.
“The city of Carcosa had four singularities. The first was that it appeared overnight. The second was that it was impossible to distinguish whether the city sat upon the waters of the Lake of Hali or on the invisible shore beyond. The third was that when the moon rose, the city’s spires appeared behind rather than in front of it. And the fourth was that as soon as one looked upon the city, one knew its name was Carcosa.”
Something about that name, Carcosa . She felt a strange, tingling excitement, as if she had discovered something indecent or forbidden — the way she had felt when she bought her first vibrator all those years ago. She had taken it home feeling dirty, giddy, almost breathless with anticipation. How could she possibly feel this way now?
That night, she dreamed of a soft, reed-thin voice saying, “The truth i s but a phantom — a ghost that can be used or murdered at whim. Have you found the Yellow Sign?”
The first read-through with the full cast in the rehearsal room of the Frontiere Theatre:
Upon her request for a complete copy of the script, the production manager, Earl Blohm — a bearded, long-haired young man who dressed as if he had fallen out of the early 1970s — told her it was all she would get. “You’ll find out the ending when everyone else does,” he said. “It never ends the same way twice.”
“I didn’t think this play had been produced before.”
“Oh, it’s very old. It’s just that no one alive has ever seen it.”
Strange, strange man, Kathryn thought. In fact, the whole ensemble struck
One day, a stranger wearing a pallid mask appeared in Hastur. To Cassilda’s horror, he also bore on his garment a representation of the Yellow Sign, a bizarre pattern rendered “in no human script.” The queen’s high priest, Naotalba, declared the stranger the embodiment of the Phantom of Truth, an agent of the King in Yellow. The stranger, however, explained that he was an ally of Hastur, who could wear the Yellow Sign with impunity because the pallid mask concealed his identity even from the all-powerful King. His purpose, he claimed, was to end the stalemate with Alar, for any kingdom that could bear the Yellow Sign as its standard would be invincible. To make this possible, he suggested Cassilda put on a “masque,” wherein the attendees themselves would wear pallid masks in the presence of the Yellow Sign. At the appointed hour, they would unmask and find that the Yellow Sign no longer held power over them.
Despite suspecting treachery, Cassilda believed the gamble worthwhile, for no matter its outcome, the conflict with Alar would end. Act 2 opened with the masked ball in progress, with Cassilda and all members of her court wearing pallid masks. At the sound of a gong, all removed their masks — all except the stranger, who then revealed that he wore no mask at all. He had deceived them so that Alar, not Hastur, might emerge victorious from the endless war.
Suddenly, with a cry of “Yhtill!” — a word meaning “stranger” — the King in Yellow appeared. Taller than two men, garbed in flowing, tattered, golden robes, the King struck down the faceless stranger, proclaiming himself a living god who was not to be mocked. He told Cassilda that Hastur would prevail over Alar, but with a heavy price: from that moment on, every inhabitant of Hastur, including Cassilda, would wear a pallid mask.
Cassilda, regaining her regal manner for the first time in eons, approached the King and boldly refused to accept his terms.
And there the script ended.
There was clearly more to the final scene. Whoever had collated this copy, Kathryn decided, was anything but thorough at his or her job.
Something in the script had seized Kathryn’s attention and, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, sent her mind reeling, as if gripped by vertigo. She flipped back through the pages until she found the passage.
“The city of Carcosa had four singularities. The first was that it appeared overnight. The second was that it was impossible to distinguish whether the city sat upon the waters of the Lake of Hali or on the invisible shore beyond. The third was that when the moon rose, the city’s spires appeared behind rather than in front of it. And the fourth was that as soon as one looked upon the city, one knew its name was Carcosa.”
Something about that name, Carcosa . She felt a strange, tingling excitement, as if she had discovered something indecent or forbidden — the way she had felt when she bought her first vibrator all those years ago. She had taken it home feeling dirty, giddy, almost breathless with anticipation. How could she possibly feel this way now?
That night, she dreamed of a soft, reed-thin voice saying, “The truth i s but a phantom — a ghost that can be used or murdered at whim. Have you found the Yellow Sign?”
The first read-through with the full cast in the rehearsal room of the Frontiere Theatre:
Upon her request for a complete copy of the script, the production manager, Earl Blohm — a bearded, long-haired young man who dressed as if he had fallen out of the early 1970s — told her it was all she would get. “You’ll find out the ending when everyone else does,” he said. “It never ends the same way twice.”
“I didn’t think this play had been produced before.”
“Oh, it’s very old. It’s just that no one alive has ever seen it.”
Strange, strange man, Kathryn thought. In fact, the whole ensemble struck
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