by G. P. Taylor
The guard pointed to a cell without a number. He took his key and opened the door and led Mariah inside a small room. There was a stove in the corner with a metal chimney running up to the roof. Three men sat at the table playing cards. No one looked up as they searched for aces and kings and sipped at mugs of beer.
‘This is the lad,’ the guard said as he locked the door behind Mariah. ‘Best be putting him inside.’
Mariah wondered what he meant. ‘I’m here to see Captain Charity,’ he protested as a guard got from the table and grabbed him by the arm.
‘So you are, lad, and soon you will see him – but first I should let you know that you’re here to stay.’
‘I’ve done nothing – I just want to visit him,’ Mariah shouted as he struggled to be free.
Another guard took hold of him as the door to the inner cell was opened and Mariah was pushed through the door.
‘Go tell Walpole we’ve got the lad and the two of them are together,’ the guard said as the door was slammed shut behind him and the lock turned.
‘Mariah!’ Charity said from the shadows of the dark cell. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You sent a telegram asking me to come,’ Mariah said as he looked at Charity.
‘I sent nothing – I have spoken to no one,’ he replied.
Mariah looked at Charity. He had been stripped of his clothes and dressed in the rude garb of a prisoner. His head had been roughly shaved and his face was bruised.
‘They’ve hurt you,’ he said as he touched the side of Charity’s face.
‘Nothing that is new to me – I have had far worse from better men,’ he said quietly.
‘I was tricked. I had a telegram. You asked me to come to
you,’ Mariah said as he sat on the bed and listened to the faint laughter of the men outside the room.
‘It was Walpole. For some reason he wants you prisoner as well as me. They only have two days left and then they must charge me for murder or let me go. I can’t understand why he now wants you.’
Mariah took a deep breath and held Charity’s hand. He told him of Walpole and the detectives, and Lucius and Zogel.
‘So they had kidnapped Sacha and held her at the castle?’ Charity asked.
Mariah continued his story until he had nothing else to say. As was his way he spared no detail until all had been said.
‘Very well,’ Charity replied as Mariah sighed with relief that he had told him at last. ‘I suspect we will not get from this place with our lives. You said that those from Athol House were involved?’
‘Sacha was sure in what she told me. It was they who had rented the Towers and Packavi said the Prince Regent could only be valued from the air,’ Mariah replied, his hands shaking and face pale with concern. ‘Why does Zogel want the Prince Regent? If you agree to sell he will set you free.’
‘It would seem, Mariah, that we are caught in a war between two groups of desperate men. There is something in the hotel that they both want. If we agreed with his demands we would be rich but still in this place. Walpole is behind my imprisonment, but I am not sure if he was the one responsible for the murders.’
Mariah stood on the bed and looked out of the small window that let in the morning light. As he held on to the bars, he felt the paint sticking to his hands. He thought for a moment and then looked at Charity as if his mind had just exploded with delight.
‘We could escape,’ Mariah said quietly.
‘There are guards and the outer door is also locked,’ Charity replied.
‘Down there,’ Mariah replied. ‘Out through the wall and over the roof. In their efforts to keep you here they have made one mistake.’
Charity looked on as Mariah took the silver badge of the Bureau of Antiquities form his pocket and began to scratch at the painted mortar between each brick. It was damp and crumbled away.
‘It was something the guard said about this building. He said the mortar hadn’t set and there is scaffolding on the far side.’
As Mariah scratched and scratched slices of damp lime fell like sludge from the wall. Charity looked on as the lad dug deeper until the first brick was free.
‘We’ll have to work fast, Walpole could return at any moment – when he knows you are here, his curiosity will not keep him away,’ Charity said.
Within a minute they had piled several large painted bricks against the floor and there was a hole in the inner wall. Carefully, Mariah and Charity dug at the sandstone of the outer wall. The mortar fell away in their hands. Mariah lifted out a row of stones and handed them to Charity, who stacked them against the door of the cell. The raucous laughter of the guards covered all they did. Soon the wall was breached. There below them was the flat roof that led to the wall. Mariah slid through the aperture and dropped to the roof below. He was quickly followed by Charity. They ran close to the wall and then across the roof. Far below they could hear the guards as they shouted at the prisoners in the exercise yard. Within a short time they had reached the battlements of the outer wall and crossed the scaffolding from the roof to the wall.
‘Where now?’ Mariah asked Charity as they hid behind the
parapet and looked down to the mud lane and the fields beyond.
‘There’s no other way but to jump – you up for it?’ Charity asked as he looked for any sign of prison guards. ‘I’ll lower you over the wall and then you’ll have to kick away and drop – it’s not far.’
Mariah looked down. There seemed to be a vast distance between the top of the parapet and the ground below.
‘It looks so far,’ Mariah said nervously as his stomach turned.
‘By the time I have lowered you it’ll only be ten feet. When you hit the ground roll over and get up running,’ Charity said as he nodded for Mariah to stand between the brick turrets on the wall.
Mariah stepped back and slid down, his feet scrambling against the bricks. He closed his eyes as Charity held his wrists as he lowered him down. He dangled momentarily high above the ground and then Charity let go.
‘No!’ Mariah murmured in panic.
‘Now!’ Charity said as Mariah began to fall. He kicked out against the wall and dropped like a stone. The ground hit him quickly. His legs buckled and, like he had been told, he instinctively rolled to one side and got up and began to run. The shock of the fall still echoed through his body and all he wanted to do was drop to the floor and find his breath.
‘Keep running, Mariah,’ Charity said as he followed on. ‘They could discover us gone at any time.’
As he spoke there was a whirring from the alarm of the prison as the siren blasted long and hard.
‘We’re discovered,’ Mariah said as they crossed the fields towards the sea.
‘They have the dogs after us, Mariah – we’ll have to run hard.
As the sound of the siren began to fade, Mariah could hear the howling of the bloodhounds. The dogs sounded far away but desperate to give chase. Mariah ran on, a yard ahead of Charity. They crossed the fields and the streams until they reached the cover of the wood that clung to the cliff to the north of the castle. With every minute the barking grew closer.
‘Into the sea, Mariah. It’s the only way we will escape. We’ll have to swim for it – the dogs will never track the scent in the sea. I know a way that they will never find.’
Charity led on as they ran from the wood and across the rocks to the sea. Soon they were swimming together towards the headland of the castle. The water seemed to take them along as Mariah struggled to keep afloat.
‘Keep nearby,’ Charity said as he slowed the pace of his swimming so that Mariah could keep up with him. ‘Can’t lose you here, not when we are so close.’
Mariah gulped for breath as a wave crashed above his head. He could feel the rocks beneath him as strands of kelp weed gripped his ankles.
‘Where to?’ he asked as he grabbed hold of a rock that jutted from the water in the shape of a large coffee pot.
‘There,’ Charity replied, point
ing to the bottom of the high cliff that towered above them.
Mariah looked to the shore but could see nothing that would aid their escape. Most of the rocks were covered by the full tide, and at the water’s edge a peculiar house had been carved from a gigantic boulder that had at some time dropped from the cliff.
Charity dragged Mariah from the sea and they hid between two large stones. From time to time he peered back to the wood. Even from such a great distance they could hear the barking of the dogs.
‘Nearly there,’ he said confidently as he smiled. ‘This is the
life, Mariah. Takes me back to the Sudan – takes me back …’ His smile faded as he looked at Mariah. They both knew what he was about to say but couldn’t.
‘Will I ever see them?’ Mariah asked.
‘Never give up hope, Mariah. I believe your parents are still alive. Your father would never give up. That’s what made him so special and I know he will find a way.’
Mariah gulped down the tears that stung his throat. He was wet and cold and in his heart of hearts had lost the will to fight. Even with Charity there he believed they would not succeed. In that moment he wanted a wave to come and snatch him from the shore and take him to the depths of the sea. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
‘Don’t give up, Mariah,’ Charity said. ‘Not until your last breath. Goodness and truth are worth fighting for. Now, it’s time.’
Charity went on ahead, keeping to the cover of the fallen rocks and the bushes that had grown in between. They climbed the steep cliff until they crawled into a briar of thorns cut through by what looked like an old badger track.
‘This is the place,’ Charity whispered as he slid into a large hole that appeared to have been dug by a stinking animal.
‘But –’ Mariah tried to reply as Charity slipped underground.
‘Quickly!’ Charity said as his face appeared in the shadowy entrance of the hole like a large fox. ‘You will be surprised by what you see.’
Cautiously, Mariah slipped through the entrance of the tunnel and into the hole. He could feel the sides pressing in against him as he crawled on in the dark, and then suddenly he fell into a cave.
‘What’s this place?’ he asked as Charity took a lantern from a small table and struck the wick with a flint and steel.
‘Ghost hole,’ Charity replied, holding his hands against the lantern for warmth. ‘We’ll never be found here. The hounds can track us to the door and think it’s a set for badgers.’
‘Ghost hole? Do you mean smugglers?’ Mariah asked, as the light from the lamp grew brighter by the second.
‘Precisely that, Mariah, precisely that,’ Charity said as he blocked the entrance to the tunnel with a plank of wood. ‘It’s time for us to plan our war …’
[ 19 ]
The Mysterious Master Templar
IT was midday when the old butler with his bulging waist opened the door of the Towers and allowed Grimm and Grendel to make their way into the parlour. He nodded to each of them as they sheepishly crossed the threshold and walked along the hall before turning left into the room. The fire had been lit and burned brightly. The floor had been swept and polished and the house gave off the odour of honeybees.
Grimm and Grendel didn’t speak. Grimm had the demeanour of a foolish child about to be reprimanded for a great folly. Grendel sipped on his linctus and didn’t care. The green bottle was gripped firmly in his fingers and he wouldn’t have minded if the world had come to an end there and then.
‘He will be back soon,’ the butler said as he fussed about the chairs as if they had to be placed perfectly before the arrival of his master. ‘When he does arrive please show him the courtesy that his rank demands.’
Grendel grinned, showing his teeth like a large dog about to bite. It was as if something other than himself had control of his face. He winced regularly as his eye twitched and his cheek shook. Grendel knew it was the linctus; it always did that to
him as it attacked his mind, but he didn’t care. After all, he was thirty-six years old and in good health and had outlived his father by several years.
‘Did he say why he wanted to see us?’ Grimm asked nervously as he pushed his chair further from the heat of the fire.
‘It’s obvious, Grimm. They escaped, and Packavi went on a rampage – what else would it be about?’
‘About whether or not I should continue to employ you,’ the man said as he entered the room.
Grimm and Grendel stood up and gave a bow. Grimm shook slightly and Grendel twitched in deep agitation.
‘Sir. What a fine day to see you, sir …’ Grimm muttered, unsure as to what to say or do in the circumstances.
‘Fine day, Mr Grimm? It is particularly cold and the wind is from the north and the sea is moderate. It is not a fine day.’
Grendel eyed the man through linctus eyes. It was the first time he had seen him in daylight. The man stood in his neat suit and sparkling shoes that shone as if they were tipped with diamonds. His waistcoat gleamed in silver and blue and around his neck was a tidy cravat. He was taller than Grimm and well fed, with a lock of white hair that fell over his brow.
‘Do you think I could have some tea? My throat is parched.’ Grendel asked without thinking, his thoughts emerging automatically from his twitching mouth.
‘I think tea can wait, Mr Grendel. When I saw you last night you had the girl. When my butler woke me from a particularly comfortable sleep, he told me that you have lost the girl – and the boy, Mariah Mundi – and then lost him again.’ The man took off his leather gloves and threw them on to the sofa. ‘I give you everything,’ he went on angrily, ‘from the police to the army, and yet you cannot do something so simple as keep your hands on two children.’
‘Hexogenamite,’ Grendel blustered. ‘That rascal blew up
the dogs, shot Packavi three times and would have killed us both. He’s a maniac, demented and dangerous – not a normal child.’
‘We didn’t know he –’ Grimm tried to add, desperate to say something.
‘But still not a man, Mr Grimm – still not a man. I expected to have all these things coming to an end and now it seems as if it is just the beginning. You have let me down and the Society of Truth also. She was needed and so was he. When I left last night with Inspector Walpole all was well.’
‘What is it that you are looking for in suite 217?’ Grendel asked as he became mesmerised by the flames of the fire.
‘That cannot be told to the likes of you. That is why I have to do the work myself and you are left in charge of the children.’ The man warmed his hands by the fire. ‘It is of such importance that it can be shared with no one. I was entrusted with the secret before Gormenberg died – he told no one else but me.’
‘You told Walpole,’ Grendel blubbered as he watched a particularly interesting flame.
‘And he alone shall know. I have also taken care of Mariah Mundi – as we speak he is incarcerated in Dean Prison,’ he said as he walked to the door and turned the key.
‘How?’ asked Grimm, unsure why they had been locked in.
‘As soon as I had heard you had let him escape I sent a telegram to the Prince Regent. It invited Mariah Mundi to visit his good friend Captain Charity. The guards were well bribed and are lower members of the Society so I know they will do their job well – unlike some people …’
‘What will you do with him?’ Grimm asked, as doubts about his own future fuddled his mind.
‘They will meet with a terrible accident. Charity will try to escape and as he does so he will be shot. Sadly and most tragically, the boy is shot accidentally – oh, how we will grieve his
death, and I myself will walk before the hearse as a sign of respect. Then we will find what we are looking for in suite 217.’
‘Doesn’t Mr Zogel wish to frustrate our desires?’ Grimm asked nervously.
‘He may, for we do not see eye to eye and the matter is open to … negotiation,’ the man said as he stood on one leg a
nd rubbed the top of his shoe against the back of his trousers. ‘I am a selfish man, Mr Grimm. I always get what I want. Gormenberg recommended you both to me and I hope he was right. I should hate to lose you.’
‘I don’t think we would ever be lost, we know the town well,’ Grendel said as Grimm kicked him to be silent.
‘I am glad you can appreciate the subtlety of what I say, Mr Grimm. I would even be prepared to offer you both membership of the Society of Truth – should you be able to fulfil my desires.’
‘Gladly,’ Grimm replied for them both, for by now the linctus had overwhelmed Grendel. His face took on the pallor of death, dark rings burnt the skin under his eyes and his face was drawn with pain. ‘What is it that would be required of us?’
‘You will die and be brought back to life,’ the man said simply, as if it was a commonplace thing to say.
‘Does it always work?’ Grimm asked.
‘Always – for those who are truly called. The Society of Truth is about leaving the cares of this earth behind. We act for the good – for fine and noble causes. We are guardians and we are the power behind the power. Do not fool yourself, Mr Grimm, that this world is run by governments and politicians, for it is not.’ The man spoke sternly, staring Grimm deeply within his eyes. ‘The Society of Truth provides presidents and prime ministers for the task. Since our foundation a thousand years ago we have grown in power. Every president of the Americas has been a Society man, and every prime minister of this island. Only the French stand for themselves. Even the city
of Washington is built according to our divine principles, and so is the Prince Regent.’
‘The Prince Regent?’ Grimm asked, wondering why a society so powerful should bother with such a place as the-town-at-the-end-of the-line.
‘Built by a great architect to the divine principle. It has a room for every day of the year, a floor for every month and a dome for every season. It points to our sacred city and can only truly be seen by the sea-hawks that fly above it. In all, Mr Grimm, the Prince Regent is a giant clock that marks the time for the Society of Truth.’
