Mariah Mundi and the Ghost Diamonds

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘They are like men,’ Charity said. ‘What was that madman doing breeding such creatures?’

  ‘The Piscis humanis are just the ones that survived,’ Titus replied. ‘There were others that were so grotesque and wicked of feature that my eyes won’t let me believe what I saw.’

  ‘That man played with life and took on the Creator in his own task. I have a mind to bring the Prince Regent to the

  ground and rid the world of its memory,’ Charity said angrily as he scanned the tank for another glimpse of the fish.

  ‘They won’t be back, not for a while,’ Titus replied as he saw Charity’s eyes searching for any sign of the fish. ‘They vanish for days. It’s as if they only come to the glass when they want to be seen. I once believed they could make themselves invisible and only appear when they wanted.’

  Mariah ignored them both. He tapped urgently on the tank with his fingers and pressed his face to the glass. At first there was nothing. Then, as he tapped again, there was a faint glow that began to appear from the gravel bed of the tank. It came closer, translucent and pulsating like a ring of fairy lights. It then took shape. He knew this was the same creature that he had first seen when he had broken in to the Aquarium.

  It came to the side of the tank and, just as before, stared him eye to eye. Mariah pressed his hand against the glass as if to touch the creature. The fish raised its long hand-like fin and mirrored his touch. The side of the tank began to tremble softly as if the creature purred like a gigantic cat. It then began to change in colour and slowly swam to break the water with its mouth.

  ‘G … oooh …’ it sung softly like a dove. ‘G … oooh …’

  ‘It’s telling you to go,’ Titus said.

  ‘Why?’ Mariah asked, not thinking he was speaking to a large fish.

  ‘Da … ey … co … mm … fer … ya … ew …’ it gurgled sweetly as it sang.

  ‘They are coming for you,’ Titus repeated. ‘It thinks someone is coming for you.’

  The fish looked at Titus through soulful eyes and appeared to smile. It shone bright red and glowed dazzlingly, shaking itself as the gills behind its human-like ears trembled.

  ‘It knows something – perhaps it can sense the danger we are in,’ Charity said as the fish quickly disappeared.

  Grub shivered by Titus’s side and then gave a low growl.

  ‘Someone’s near,’ Titus said urgently. ‘Go, Jack – Mariah knows the way. Lock the door behind you.’ He looked at Mariah and nodded for them to be gone as Grub growled louder.

  There was a beating on the door of the Aquarium and Pleasure Palace that shook the air like thunder. It came again, louder, and the doors began to split open and the glass crack within the frames.

  Titus ran with Grub at his side. He could see shadows of men outside beating against the wooden door. There was a splintering of glass as the panel smashed and the door was beaten open. The yapping of a bloodhound heralded the chase.

  Standing in the doorway were the two detectives who had questioned Mister Quadlibett.

  ‘Titus Salt? It’s Greaves and Readman, your old friends,’ one of them shouted as he shone a lantern into the darkened avenue. ‘We know you have them here. The bloodhound followed a thief and his companion from the Market Vaults. So no lying, Titus,’ the man mocked. ‘You know what happens if you lie to the police.’

  Titus knew both of these men. They had come to the Aquarium many times. He walked on as calmly as he could, holding Grub tight to his side.

  ‘There is no one here – you are wrong,’ he said as the hound bayed and growled.

  ‘Then you won’t mind if we let the dog search the place?’

  Before Titus could reply, the two detectives pushed their way inside and walked across the broken glass and into the Pleasure Palace.

  ‘You’ll find nothing here. I don’t know who you are looking for.’

  ‘Jack Charity and Mariah Mundi,’ Readman, the smaller detective, blurted out without thinking.

  ‘Fool,’ cursed Greaves as he jabbed Readman in the chest with his fist.

  ‘Ah,’ Titus laughed. ‘You hunt for the dead with hounds? Whatever next – searching for the man in the moon with a Cheshire cat?’

  A scruffy old man in a tweed coat pulling an overweight bloodhound on a long leather leash came in from the cold night.

  ‘My hounds can find anything,’ he muttered feebly through his jowls. ‘Even the dead.’

  ‘Then search you may and I hope you find more than you came looking for,’ Titus replied as he held Grub to his side.

  ‘I’ll leash up Burgho and walk him,’ said the ragged man with the old dog. ‘It’s the only way I’ll find anything in this place, it stinks worse than Titus Salt.’

  Above them, a black macaw howled in disapproval, shouting out the words he had heard from the navvies who chewed tobacco and hid from their lodging houses on wet Sunday afternoons.

  ‘It’s dangerous to go on your own – there are creatures and I cannot guarantee your safety,’ Titus shouted as the man walked into the shadow of the galleries.

  ‘They’re only fish,’ said Greaves. ‘Nothing to be afraid of, Titus – unless you’re hiding something?’

  Titus cast a glance up the long avenue away from the Piscis humanis and the entrance to the tunnel. He knew Greaves had seen him and looked again for good measure, this time allowing his eyes to tarry upon the large tank halfway along.

  ‘What’s up there, Titus?’ Greaves asked. ‘Is that where they went?’

  ‘There’s been no one here,’ Titus insisted.

  ‘He’s lying, Mister Brough – let Burgho scent them out.’

  The old man nodded at the detective and set off alone

  towards the tank. The hound pulled him onwards towards the glass and sniffed the frame.

  ‘Got something,’ the man said as the hound skirted the side of the tank that led to the steps up to the gantry. ‘Gone up here – you’ll have to help me get the dog up,’ he shouted as the hound scrabbled at the steps.

  ‘Come with us,’ the detective said, taking hold of Titus and dragging him along. Grub growled. Greaves slipped his grip and prodded for Titus to walk on ahead.

  ‘You’re making a mistake. No one has gone this way.’

  ‘We’ll decide who has made the mistake when we put you in Dean Prison for obstructing the police,’ the detective snorted.

  Titus knew he could not fool them for long. All he wanted was to hold the detectives back for such a time as to allow Mariah and Charity to get into the Prince Regent.

  ‘I wouldn’t take the dog up there,’ he said as he refused to walk any further. ‘No one has been that way.’

  ‘You’re lying. Mister Readman, get that dog and old Brough on to that gantry. That’s the way they went, I know it.’ Greaves laughed as he turned to Titus. ‘Do you think I am totally stupid?’

  ‘Not totally,’ Titus replied as he watched the dog being pushed up the steps and onto the feeding gantry that ran above every deep and murky tank.

  ‘I have something,’ said old Mister Brough as Burgho found the scent of a creature. ‘It’s along here,’ he said excitedly. Readman followed as the dog pulled Brough along the gantry towards a vast tank of still black water.

  ‘Tell us who was here and where they are now,’ insisted the fat detective.

  ‘There is no one here,’ Titus protested as the dog on the gantry sniffed at the water inches below.

  ‘Tell me!’ Greaves shouted angrily as he pulled back his fist to strike Titus in the face.

  There was a sudden splash of water and a momentary howl as the bloodhound vanished into the tank, quickly followed by Mister Brough.

  ‘What was that?’ screamed Readman, just a yard behind Brough and his dog. He could see nothing but the rippling of the water beneath his feet. ‘They’ve vanished!’ he shouted nervously as he looked to the shimmering, black water below.

  ‘What have you done with them?’ the other detective screamed, his eyes
flashing from Titus to Mister Readman, who stood terrified above the tank.

  ‘I told you it was dangerous,’ Titus protested too late as suddenly and without warning Readman was pulled from his feet into the bubbling, swirling black murk.

  ‘Joe!’ the man screamed as something dragged him deeper into the water. ‘Help me …’

  Greaves ran to the gantry, climbed up the steps and ran along the feeding platform.

  ‘Don’t do it!’ Titus screamed at him.

  ‘I’ll be with you soon, Budd,’ Greaves shouted as he ran. He quickly took hold of Readman’s arm. ‘It won’t take you …’

  Greaves pulled as hard as he could. For a moment, whatever had taken hold of Readman released its grip. The man scrabbled upwards, gripping the edge of the gantry, his clothes tattered and torn as if a thousand sharp teeth had ripped them to pieces.

  ‘It’s beneath me, Joe,’ he said as he gulped his breath, but could say no more.

  Just as he was about to be pulled from the water, a vast and terrible creature snapped a long tentacle across his back. The claws dug into him, pulling the man from Greaves and into the water. Then there was complete silence; even the birds that squawked in the vines that hung from the arcade had stopped singing.

  Greaves looked into the water but could see nothing.

  ‘You’ll pay for this, Titus Salt. This is murder,’ he shouted as he made his way precariously along the metal gantry towards the steps.

  ‘I warned you. Told you it was dangerous,’ Titus said, his words echoing. ‘You didn’t listen – when will you ever listen?’

  There was no reply. As Titus looked up he could see that Detective Joe Greaves had vanished. All that floated on the surface of the water were the torn remnants of his porkpie hat and the collar of his grubby, faded white shirt.

  [ 23 ]

  Suite 217

  THE door that led from the Aquarium and Pleasure Palace to the deepest regions of the Prince Regent Hotel had closed firmly behind them. Mariah had twisted the handle so tightly that it could be moved no further. Charity in turn had pushed the bolt as hard as he could so that no one could follow. They didn’t know that their pursuers were dead, and that another of the late Otto Luger’s weird creations had eaten its fill on two detectives, a large but old dog and an even larger and older Mister Brough. The creature, a strange cross between some kind of shark and an octopus, lay at the bottom of its dark tank, so full that it was unable to move.

  In the tunnel, Mariah and Charity walked on blindly. They used their hands to trace along the wall. Each moved at a slow pace for fear they would fall upon some hidden precipice. Cobwebs and trailing strands of cavewort dragged across their faces like the hands of the long-buried reaching for life. Mariah took his phosphorescent torch and shone the beam at the ceiling. But it faded at once, leaving him doubly blind as the spark of light took away his dark sight.

  It was ten long minutes before they had made any noticeable

  progress. The tunnel became a twisting staircase that eventually found the light in what was once the storeroom of the magician Bizmillah. Mariah found the lanterns that had been left over from the performance of the disappearing pig and soon they found themselves in the lobby of the hotel. Charity was not sure if Walpole had placed any of his men inside the hotel. All he knew was that outside, at every door was an officer of the law.

  Mariah led the way as they walked up the staircase and along the landing to suite 217. Their purpose kept them silent. Mariah wanted to find the diamonds quickly. In his mind he could see Sacha standing on the dock and smiling at his enemy. Lucius held her hand as they shared laughter. The spectacle made Mariah shiver in anger. As soon as he found the diamonds he would find Sacha, Mariah said to himself as he struggled in the turmoil of wanting to know why she was on the Irenzee.

  Mariah was taken from his thoughts by their arrival at the door of suite 217. It was not locked. Charity pushed the door slowly and looked inside. All was just as it had been on the night Mariah had followed the thief from the hotel. The room was tidy. Nothing was disturbed. It was sprawling and vast and looked bigger than he remembered. It had once been several rooms that had been pulled together, with walls knocked down and ceilings replastered. Now it formed a peculiar suite that took up one corner of the third floor of the hotel.

  Charity went to the window and drew the curtains as Mariah watched from the doorway. The hotel already smelt of sour milk and old newspapers. Since the guests had gone it had begun to fester and stagnate quicker than they could have imagined.

  There was nothing left of Baron Hoetzendorf’s in the room. It was obvious to them both that the room had been searched yet again and all the items put back in place.

  Charity had stood in this room many times. Whenever a guest had stayed there, he had welcomed them to suite 217, the Prince Regent’s finest room, with a bottle of champagne and Mister Bonnet’s peculiarly good chocolates. But despite its extravagant design and lavish furniture, it had an icy chill. Not one that would be given from a cold draught, but the kind that hung in the air from tragic circumstances. It was as if voices from the past earnestly desired to warn those in the future of what had once taken place.

  When Cordelia Troodle, a famous mesmerist and seer, had visited the town for a Gathering of Magnetism she had stayed but one night before the voices in suite 217 had driven her not only from the hotel but also from the country. She had run from the building screaming for her life, and having taken the first train to Liverpool had departed back to the Americas on the paddle steamer SS Scotia. What those voices had said, no one knew. But they had been sufficiently articulate to scare not only Miss Troodle but also several other guests since.

  Despite this, many people booked suite 217 a year in advance. It had remained the most popular and the most expensive room in the Prince Regent. Baron Hoetzendorf’s wife had insisted that no other room was grand enough for them.

  Now it lay empty, colder than before, and the whole hotel was eerily silent. The sound of the distant steam generator was the only noise to give any suggestion that life continued somewhere in the empty building.

  Mariah peered through a chink in the curtain to the square outside. He could see Athol House, its grubby door shut firmly as if to keep in its secrets. A Peeler stood outside. He kept his arms folded under his uniform cape, his half topper pulled down about his ears to keep out the cold. The man paced a yard each way like a ticking clock; he stopped at every turn and looked each way before ticking again back and forth.

  ‘What do you think they are doing?’ Mariah whispered to Charity who had started to search the room.

  ‘Waiting for a time to come and look in here. They’ll hang on until no one is about and then they’ll be in to take this place apart.’

  ‘How do we know the diamonds are here?’ Mariah asked as he pulled the curtains back in place.

  ‘We don’t. Gormenberg used this room when he was pretending to be Otto Luger. I can only think he hid them somewhere near. He couldn’t be far away from his riches. They were what gave him life.’

  ‘Have you seen the Ghost Diamonds?’ asked Mariah.

  ‘Seen, never – but heard of them often. I can’t understand why they were brought here. The Bureau of Antiquities has hunted for them throughout the world. Beautiful things, I hear. Cut from a diamond the size of a skull and divided into seven equal diamonds. It is said that if you stare into the centre of each stone you can see your own face on the day you die. That is why they are called the Ghost Diamonds …’

  ‘And Gormenberg smuggled the diamonds into the Prince Regent?’ Mariah asked as he looked about the room.

  ‘No one knows. It was long before I came back. Smutch told me of a rumour. Everyone thought they were in the smugglers’ tunnels and lost for ever. But they have to be somewhere very near.’

  ‘Why would the Society of Truth need them?’ Mariah asked as he looked under the grand four-poster bed that stood out of place in the centre of the room.

&
nbsp; ‘They are like a spoilt child who will never share. The Society of Truth believes they have a divine right to every precious item in the world. What they cannot buy they will steal and what they cannot steal they will kill for.’

  ‘But why?’ he asked.

  ‘They even kill their own when they have no further use of them. Two presidents of the Americas were amongst their number. The Society of Truth had Lincoln and Garfield killed. Shot dead by deranged madmen. They were honest men who declined the Society’s invitation. Garfield was shot dead about the time the Ghost Diamonds vanished and Zogel set sail for Africa.’

  Mariah sat on the large bed and for a moment held his face in the hot palms of his hands.

  ‘I never thought that … I never could believe …’ He struggled to speak; he felt like a mouse about to be eaten by a tiger. ‘We cannot win against such people.’

  ‘A fight here and a skirmish there … The Bureau of Antiquities will be a thorn in their flesh until they are destroyed – that is all what we need to do. One battle at a time. Remember Mariah, we are not alone in this fight.’

  Charity looked up and smiled as Mariah stared at the ornate ceiling. His eyes followed the line of the plaster moulding that had been painted in shimmering blue and gold. A long vine branch took his gaze from the window to the centre of the room. It was woven with clusters of grapes and the occasional spider until it reached a crown at the heart of a six-pointed star. At each tip was a similar moulded coronet, and these somehow seemed out of place, as if they had been added later to the original decoration. The whole star fitted neatly into the space between the curtained posts of the bed. Whoever lay against the fusty pillows could look up and see the stars and coronets framed upon the ceiling.

  The dim glow from the lamp cast a long shadow above him. It glistened against the faded gilding. Mariah stared and stared, wondering why someone should waste so much money on something only glanced upon in the last moments before sleep.