Read In the Court of the Yellow King for Free Online Page B

Ellis-Islanded to Smith, but that family Bible that baby – Elvis – won’t let no one touch still says Castaigne, from Papa’s granny.
    Oh, I see you glancing at that bookshelf. Yes, yes, most of those histories are incomplete, but that one’s not. It’s two centuries old, and...
    Oh, no, not the one you’re thinking of, the one that art-school student turned his back on in midstream to go pluck the lower-hanging fruit, then went back and tried to... No, he dreamed about Americanizing this version.
    A poet wrote this version in jail, back in the Old Country. A thief named Villòn, in 1456. Not our kin, he just knew us. This is the true KING IN YELLOW. Every emperor who ever lived had no kind of ambition compared to the King, who doesn’t rest until He speaks even to the dreams of the unborn.
    Emperors have served Him, and we serve His mandate between God and Man in this house too. It...
    Oh, are you sure you want to just pick that old folio right on up and start reading? Well. Then let me fix that drink, Mr. Freed. It looks broken. Ha-ha. You opened right to page one. “When from Carcosa,the Hyades, H astur, and Aldebaran...”
    Here you are. Oh, something’s fallen out of the folio. Have you found the Yellow Sign?

    (Alan Freed turned the ebon brooch over in his hand, and it was a Port Authority subway-token, stamped with a single word, PAYOLA. When he turned it over again, he gasped.

    See, there, it looks a bit like a scorpion, or a hog’s pecker. Then in the center, the Eye. Have you ever read the Chambers version? Both are books of great truths. Here, I’ll take that brooch from you now. It was Grandmother’s. What... Oh, you’re looking at who’s on the mantel. You’re... curious.
    Well, you know.
    Baby Jesse was stillborn. Now he can always be with us. It... Why, I can hear a good Catholic boy like you thinking it, Mr. Freed. Those eyes were closed bef ore Old Lady Two-Head put Jesse in that there jar. He is not looking at you. Ahem. In my own home, men think these things. No respect for the dead.
    There’s someone up the front walk. That’ll be time for—
    Oh, I see you weren’t introduced. This is my sister’s foundling. Elvis calls her ‘Scylla, from when they were babies, but her proper name’s Cassilda. Cassilda Presley.
    Oh, you have met? Tree- climbing. Mr. Freed. You’re old enough to be her—
    I see. My apologies for doubting a married man’s intentions. I’m sure your gallantry is quite old-fashioned enough for our tastes, when we get to know you. We won’t be cruel.
    Cassilda, you did not never have a dream about Mr. Freed coming here! Now whup on out to that side yard and cut some flowers for the table before we sit down to supper.
    Kids can be so rude. Now, where was I? Oh, sure. Well, Elvis told you just a little while ago that we’re kind of... remolding him. Reworking the way we do things, with... this. Bob Neal, his manager, well, you probably heard. He got Elvis a... like an advisor, or an attaché.
    Bob met this military fella, a reservist from the Louisiana State Militia, used to bark in the gilly, claims to have served a special branch called the Imperial Dynasty of America. Colonel Tom Parker, the Repairer of Reputations. Keeps Elvis whipped into line. The way all boys should be. Under the Dragon’s wing. All boys got the Devil in them. Mine the most of all.
    Most of all. Colonel Parker says that my boy is an investment more valuable than gold, or diamonds, or workers, or any human capital. He says they can make Elvis a household name, a brand name. I don’t quite understand how all that would work, but the money. The money.
    Only the Colonel has a contract with my boy now, and as far as I’m concerned, Tom is family. He got that song “Heartbreak Hotel” all the way to you, sir, and that’s mostly why you’re here, I guess. Elvis has a new one for you very shortly, as soon as my boy gets all the way in... character, and no commercial breaks, either. Won’t