Mariah Mundi and the Ghost Diamonds

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘If I am dead then look at my face. You have seen it many times. I know you keep no gun so shooting me will be impossible,’ Charity pleaded.

  The door opened an inch. Mariah could see the large silver eye of Mister Quadlibett staring at them.

  ‘I have never seen a ghost before – for surely you are dead. Every customer has told me this today and I have it written in the smudged ink of the Evening Gazette, newly arrived.’ Quadlibett’s voice trembled, truly fearful.

  ‘Then touch my hand, Mister Quadlibett – give me hot chocolate and watch me drink and, most of all, fill it with sugar mallows and cover them with cream.’

  ‘Even in death you still want food?’ Quadlibett asked.

  Charity shot his hand through the crack in the door and grabbed Quadlibett by the scruff of his jacket.

  ‘Could a ghost do this?’ he asked with a laugh as he twisted the silk scarf in his hand and lifted the man from his feet.

  ‘It is you – but how? You have been seen – dead,’ Quadlibett insisted.

  ‘We are alive and will remain so with your help. I need a change of clothes and your silence.’ Charity pushed his way inside with Mariah following on.

  ‘Mariah Mundi – Captain Charity – alive, alive indeed,’ said Mister Quadlibett with his silk cap pulled over one eye and the tassel bobbing back and forth. ‘Great expectations, great expectations …’ he went on as he opened the door. ‘As soon as I heard of your escape I wondered if you would come here. Then I was told of your death. The town is alive with the news, but I must have powerful sight for according to the Evening Gazette you are both dead.’

  ‘There are lies, lies, and then what is written in the Gazette. No greater work of fiction have I ever read.’ Charity laughed.

  ‘They say they have found a body on the beach, washed ashore – a prisoner from Dean Prison with a bullet in his back.’

  ‘We are well, Mister Quadlibett. Hungry, but well. The man they discovered will be a poor unfortunate from the workhouse – proof positive of my death.’

  ‘Inspector Walpole has confirmed it was you – he identified the remains, what was left after its beating against the rocks. It says so on the front page. There is also a photograph.’ Quadlibett showed them both the crisp newspaper. On the front page was a sepia photograph that bore a dim resemblance to Charity.

  ‘To disguise the fact it wasn’t me. Doubtless the body will be the same height and age, a doppelgänger without a face.’

  ‘But it is good to see the real Captain Jack so alive,’ Mister Quadlibett said, offering his hand. ‘I am so glad to see you and young Mariah. Just like old times.’

  ‘And with old enemies, Mister Quadlibett. Grimm, Grendel and many others,’ Charity said as his eyes searched the back room of the sweet shop.

  ‘Then sit before the fire and we will plan what to do. It is late and the streets will be empty. They say that Spring-Heeled-Jack will strike again. No one dares to go outside, especially with the haar mist covering the town.’ Quadlibett stopped and looked at Charity. ‘I have to ask you one thing – to which I am

  already sure of the answer, but I need to know from you.’ He paused before going on. ‘Jack, did you kill those people? The ones who exploded?’

  ‘Not I, never, but I know who did,’ Charity replied seriously, his face sullen.

  ‘Then I take your word and will help,’ Quadlibett chirped as he flustered with his handkerchief. ‘I get told many things in this shop. People confide in me.’ He sighed. ‘It’s the candy, opens the mouth and heart quicker than gin.’ Quadlibett looked at Mariah and then to Charity as if the presence of the boy forbade him from speaking. ‘Some people … some people say they have heard things … alarming things, things without –’

  ‘Be honest, Mister Quadlibett. Mariah knows much of what we do,’ Charity said, realising that Quadlibett feared speaking in front of the boy.

  ‘Very well. There are rumours, rumours that are fearful to believe,’ Quadlibett said reluctantly.

  ‘Go on,’ said Mariah.

  ‘They say … that you have found the Ghost Diamonds and that is why you had the people murdered. They say it is not a coincidence that the Irenzee came on the same night, and that you and Zogel are in concert with each other. More than that, Captain. They say you are Spring-Heeled-Jack …’

  ‘A killer and a smuggler?’ Charity asked.

  ‘People like to talk and since your arrest they are talking about you. This town envies success – especially when it is one of their own that has done well. There are some who would like to knock you down to size and see you back on the pier gutting fish. It’s jealousy, my friend. Now you have come upon hard times they are quite happy.’

  ‘I’ve been given nothing and worked for all I have,’ Charity replied.

  ‘This is a small place and you have done better than most. I

  remember your father – he always worked hard. There are others who see what you have and turn green at the sight. Always remember that. Inspector Walpole has visited them all. They – to a man – would have spoken against you in court. Now you are dead. It complicates matters.’

  ‘It also means that as far as Walpole is concerned I cannot be alive again and I am to be killed. Walpole knows I live and breathe and as we speak he will be looking for me,’ Charity said with a hint of desperation.

  ‘What have you done that could change the heart of the Inspector of Police? This is a conspiracy, Captain.’

  ‘That it is. The reason is not yet clear – but will be soon.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘I need clothes, Mister Quadlibett. I have a suit at the Golden Kipper. Tell Mister Smutch it is for my burial – he will continue the rumour that I am dead. He could never keep anything to himself. Tell him that I am to be buried with my pistol and small brass telescope. I have a room in the loft. There’s ammunition in the drawer of the cupboard by the bed. Bring it to me. Mariah and I have to plan our war.’

  ‘War, on the streets of our town? I will be reminded in my heart of the fight against Napoleon. In the hour, Captain, you will have what you want. In the hour …’

  Mister Quadlibett scurried like an excited rabbit from the room. He pulled his fingerless gloves upon his hands and took off his silk cap to swap it for a small, threadbare topper.

  ‘You know where your favourites are hidden, Mariah. Help yourself.’ Quadlibett smiled as he slipped from the candy shop into the candle-lit vaults beneath the market hall. ‘Lock the door and pull the blinds.’

  He disappeared from the shop. Mariah had followed him to the door and did just as he said. He turned the key in the lock and pulled the blind over the windows. All was quiet.

  The hour passed slowly. The clock above the door ticked loudly. Mariah watched the second hand as it crawled across the white face. Charity sat in front of the fire, his eyes fixed and lips tight.

  ‘What shall we do?’ Mariah asked as the hour halved.

  ‘I have a good mind to go alone. I can’t take you to more danger,’ Charity replied without looking at him.

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘You are in my care, Mariah Mundi. Don’t forget that,’ Charity said.

  ‘It’s beyond your care. It was something Packavi said to me. He said there had to be another death and then five more and his task will be over. He said seven would be a perfect number, complete …’

  ‘Seven? Are you sure?’ Charity asked.

  ‘He said I was to be a sacrifice and seven would die – something to do with the stars. When I found the man inside the Prince Regent, he was in suite 217.’

  ‘Suite 217 was Gormenberg’s apartment. That’s it – I understand,’ Charity said as if suddenly everything became clear. ‘The Society of Truth.’

  ‘What?’ Mariah asked, not knowing what he was talking about.

  ‘It all fits. It has to be them. That is why they want the Prince Regent, and finding the Ghost Diamonds is what they need to survive. That is why Go
rmenberg came here.’

  ‘The Society of Truth?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘The power behind the power, Mariah. Never look at life with your eyes closed. Nothing happens in this world without them knowing. The Society of Truth is behind every war and disaster. The politicians may say we are sent to fight for freedom, but it is really for gain. I have known for some time that the Society of Truth put its men in positions of power. They

  then bring in more people from their society and so the rot spreads. They are like a plague, a virus that spreads its corruption. From the police to parliament they are all infected with the servile filth.’

  ‘So Walpole – the sign on his ring – the Society?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘The mark of a minion. No one of real power would be so crude. Walpole is just a foot soldier for someone else,’ Charity replied.

  From outside the shop there was a gentle tapping on the glass. Mariah turned down the lamp before he opened the door that led into the shop. He quietly crossed the floor as the tapping came again. He peered around the screen and there, standing all alone, was Mister Quadlibett.

  ‘Followed, Captain, I was followed,’ Quadlibett gibbered with nervous excitement as Mariah let him into the shop. ‘I think I gave them the slip in the haar mist but I am sure they know it was me.’

  ‘Where from?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘From outside the Golden Kipper. Walpole’s men are everywhere. I met Mrs Sacahvell the fish seller. She knows everything. She said they were out to catch Spring-Heeled Jack. They must think that old Mister Quadlibett is the suspect as two of his men set off after me when I got your clothes.’ Quadlibett handed Charity a small brown parcel neatly tied with string. It was as cold as the night and brought the smell of the street and the strong odour of fried fish inside the Vendorium. ‘I think I lost them in Sepulchre Street – not that I can be sure.’

  There was a sudden spate of footsteps outside the shop. The door handle turned slowly as Mariah and Mister Quadlibett stepped back towards the storeroom.

  [ 21 ]

  The Mesmerist

  THE door to the Vendorium sprang open. Two men in rough suits and dirty shoes stepped inside. They stood for a moment in their own dirt as the taller, scruffier man rubbed the day’s growth of beard on his chin.

  ‘We know you’re here, Mister Quadlibett,’ he said as he wheezed for breath. ‘Saw you leave the Golden Kipper, we did. Police business – want to know what was in that parcel.’

  The men waited for a reply. Mister Quadlibett walked slowly and elegantly from the back room into the shop, the tassel on his silk hat dangling over his face.

  ‘Fish, fried potato and a side order of oysters,’ Quadlibett replied. ‘The Golden Kipper is the best place in the world for such food – here, would you like to try?’

  Quadlibett slipped his hand around the door and unseen to the men, Mariah handed him a packet of fish, fried potatoes and oysters wrapped in brown paper.

  ‘Parcel you was carrying was bigger than that,’ the smaller man said as he rubbed the night dew from his nose.

  ‘Double wrapped to keep out the night air – can’t be eating cold fish can we?’ Quadlibett replied as he offered some of the

  food to the two detectives. ‘Must be serious business, hunting for fried fish. I hear haddock robbery is on the increase.’

  ‘Funny,’ said the small man in a droll manner as he looked about the shop and sneered at Quadlibett. ‘Do you know Jack Charity?’ he asked.

  ‘Doesn’t all the town?’ Quadlibett said as he sucked on a fried potato. ‘Sadly, I heard about his death. Here, I have it on the authority of the Evening Gazette, so it must be true. Never known them to get anything wrong. Why should you be asking about him?’

  ‘Loose ends, Mister Quadlibett, snipping off loose ends,’ said the taller man as he tried to look over Qaudlibett’s shoulder and into the room beyond. ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘Everything I own – my whole life. A bed, the good Book and a warm fire.’

  ‘Can we see?’ the man asked as he stepped forward, hoping that Quadlibett would get out of his way.

  ‘Inconvenient. Especially as I am having my supper,’ he replied, taking a mouthful of fish and oysters.

  The man snatched the food from his hand, screwed up the paper into a ball and threw it to the floor. ‘Supper’s over, Mister Quadlibett. Now can we take a look?’

  ‘I presume you are telling, rather than asking?’ he said as he stood his ground and with a flick of his head flashed the long silk tassel into the man’s face.

  ‘You presume right – now get out of the way.’

  ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked as the man lifted him from the ground. ‘That is where I live, nothing more –’

  ‘We have instructions to find –’ The tall man stopped and stared Quadlibett in the eye as he realised he had nearly said too much.

  ‘I am not a mesmerist. There are no ghosts in my room, no spectre of the night, no phantom of death … I think you

  should –’ Quadlibett was about to finish his words when he was thrown to the floor.

  The man stepped forward and pushed on the door. There came a sound like the clicking of a ratchet. The burly detective stepped back as a masked figure in a fine black suit pressed a revolver into his forehead.

  ‘This is a robbery,’ said the man as he winked at Quadlibett without being seen by the detective. ‘Move an inch and you’re a dead man.’

  The detective shivered. His companion looked to the door as if to run.

  ‘Leave this place and I’ll shoot you as well,’ said the masked man as he held the pistol closer to the man’s forehead.

  The other detective froze and put his hands in the air. Quadlibett knew instantly that this was Captain Jack.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ he said as he stared at the gunman. ‘You didn’t ask us if you could turn this place over – you from out of town? Them’s the rules – we say who gets robbed.’

  ‘Not tonight you don’t – it’s your turn. You,’ he said to Quadlibett. ‘Get up and take this rope. Tie them together and make it good and you won’t get shot.’

  ‘Please don’t kill me,’ Quadlibett pleaded as he snatched the rope from the robber’s hand and with great delight began to tie up the two detectives. He pulled the rope as hard as he could until each squealed in great discomfort.

  ‘Their feet as well,’ the robber said as he held them at gunpoint.

  Quadlibett seemed to enjoy strapping the two detectives together. He disappeared into his room and returned with a large spool of gummed tape, which he proceeded to wrap around their heads until they could neither see nor speak. He continued to wrap them in the thick brown tape until they resembled two ancient mummies strapped back to back.

  The robber pulled the mask from his face and gestured for Quadlibett to keep silent. Charity could hardly contain his laughter and Quadlibett smirked in deep mirth. Together they tipped the detectives from their feet and rolled them under the counter as they moaned vociferously.

  ‘You,’ Charity said to Quadlibett. ‘In the back of the shop and give us all your money.’

  Quadlibett scurried into the back room as Charity followed.

  ‘One move from you, old man, and I’ll kill you myself,’ he said to Quadlibett as he slammed the door behind them. Charity then took a length of rope and wrapped it around his hand and then began to scrape it against the side of the fireplace until it split. ‘Wait two hours,’ he whispered as softly as he could. ‘Then escape – tell them you were robbed and threatened with death. We’ll be long gone. I’ll lock you in and push the key under the door. Only unlock the door when they have been released – that way they will believe what you tell them.’

  ‘How exciting!’ Quadlibett trembled. ‘If only I could come with you.’

  ‘It’d be too dangerous,’ Charity replied. ‘Help Mariah onto my back. I only want them to hear one set of footsteps leave the Vendorium.’

  Charity left the shop
carrying Mariah on his back. He locked the door and slid the key underneath. Soon they were in the street. The haar mist was thick and cold. It gripped the street like an icy hand. They could hear the sound of carriages nearby but in the thick fog could see no one. The mist dulled the lights of the shops, sucking any brilliance from them and garbing their form in brackish dreariness. It was as if the whole town was covered in a deathly grey shroud.

  Walking by the King’s Arms towards the abattoir, they listened to the quiet conversation within. It was as if there was an expectation of something dreadful about to happen, as if every

  man, woman and child had been given a foreboding vision that there would be great misery upon that eve.

  A man stood on the corner of the lane that led to the Prince Regent from East Bar. Mariah could just make out his dark outline in the gaslight. He smoked a pipe and leant against the wall. He held a brush in his hands and looked as if he had just finished washing the blood from the abattoir steps. He watched them closely as they passed by.

  ‘Not an evening for a lad to be out,’ he said as he chewed on the chalk stem of the pipe.

  ‘Finished work,’ Mariah replied, his head down.

  ‘Spring-Heeled Jack will be out. Best get off, the pair of you. No respecter of circumstances is Spring-Heeled Jack.’

  ‘That be right,’ Charity replied in an accent that made him sound like a drunk Frenchman.

  ‘All right for me,’ the man went on. ‘Don’t think he’d be interested in an old butcher.’ He took up his brush and swept the dregs of blood into the road.

  The Prince Regent loomed ahead, rising out of the mist like a leviathan. The lights from the square cast a large shadow against the mist. Here and there, the haar swirled to form what looked like the transient shapes of whirlwind spectres that fleeted momentarily before disappearing.

  Mariah went ahead as he heard the sound of hammering and the screaming of Mrs Mukluk. He stopped on the corner and peered around the wall to see what was happening. Outside the hotel in the swirling mist and lit by the street lamps was Walpole. He stood beside three neat piles of alligator-skin cases all initialled with the letters DZ. Zogel was standing next to his carriage as Lucius gathered up the cases and supervised their stacking on the carriage. Mrs Mukluk was being dragged away by two constables in uniform. A large crowd gathered in the hustle-bustle to see what was happening.