Mariah Mundi
Page 9
‘He’ll find Bizmillah in his room,’ Sacha whispered closely in words just above a sighing breath.
‘We can listen at the door,’ Mariah said as he grappled with the large umbrella that he now knew belonged to Isambard Black. ‘He’ll have found him by now. If he thought Bizmillah was an intruder it wouldn’t be so quiet. This is a gathering that has been prepared for. When I saw him on the train I knew there was somewhat more to the man.’ Mariah dropped his voice quieter than a bird’s breath, so that Sacha had to follow the shape of his lips to see what he said. ‘In my room I have the other cufflink. He dropped it in the train – that’s where I found it. And there’s something else, something far different and quite amazing,’ Mariah panted, knowing she could be trusted with his secret. ‘It was given to me by a man on Kings Cross station, said I should keep it safe then tell him where I was and he would come for it.’ Mariah paused and looked through the narrow crack in the door, listening intently for the slightest sound. He looked at Sacha in the half-light. ‘And something else, something that I know Felix once touched – I found a key.’
‘Key? What kind of key?’ Sacha asked as she pushed open the door and got to her feet, then edged her way towards Black’s room. She left him no time to reply as she pressed her ear against the door, gesturing for him to be quiet.
Inside she could hear the muffled voices of a conversation. Sacha pointed to the door of the stairs and opened her eyes wide to signal for Mariah to make clear for their escape. Bizmillah and Isambard Black talked quickly, sparring with their words in a language that Sacha could not understand.
‘What are they saying?’ Mariah asked as he pushed on the door to the stairwell.
There was a sudden thump inside the room and the sound of heavy footsteps making towards the door, knowing that they had been overheard.
‘Quickly, man!’ shouted Bizmillah. ‘Unlock the door – someone is outside.’
At the same time footsteps came from the stairwell.
‘Twice in one day,’ Monica complained, her words tapping out faster than the heels of her stilettos. ‘Fix that elevator, Otto, it’s killing my feet.’
Sacha looked at Mariah, her face lined in panic as the door handle began to rattle while Black fumbled on the inside with the key.
‘The elevator,’ Mariah seethed through his teeth as the door to the stairwell slammed with a gusting breeze.
Sacha jumped from the door to the open gate, quickly followed by Mariah. He slammed the gate of the carriage, hoping that there would be one small gust of steam to take them up a floor.
‘DOWN!’ screamed Sacha, pressing the buttons one after the other, frantically banging each one as Isambard Black finally opened the door to his room.
There was a loud hiss and a sudden grunt as the steam elevator guzzled in anger at being woken from its sleep. It juddered and groaned as a feeble pressure rose in its pipes. Suddenly and without warning the carriage dropped several feet in the splitting of a second. For that brief moment they took off from the floor and floated like dandelion seeds, then were crashed into the deck of the carriage as the steam elevator stopped dead …
Mariah looked at Sacha as she rolled on the floor. ‘Do you think we got away?’ he asked. He got up, brushing the dirt from his trousers and leaving the girl to scramble to her feet.
‘Open the door,’ she said quickly. ‘They’ll have heard the lift and will be down the stairs after us – we have to get out.’
Mariah grabbed the door and slid the gate quickly to one side. This was not the hotel, it was somewhere far different. On the wall opposite was a large clock the size of a man; a long golden second hand swirled around its circular wooden face … backwards.
[ 9 ]
Antithetical Accumulations
IN two steps Mariah had left the elevator and Sacha behind him. The clicking of the huge clock and the swirl of the second hand had drawn him out and into the long, brightly lit corridor. Sacha followed quickly, picking the umbrella from the floor and slamming it into the track of the gate so that it couldn’t close. She looked for the staircase that she knew should be on the right hand side of the shaft. To her surprise, all she could see was a wall covered from floor to ceiling in flock wallpaper decorated with large red swans with piercing black eyes. Several dark oak doors were spaced evenly along the far wall, each one edged with a polished brass surround. They had neither handles nor locks, just circular brass plates with a small jagged slit.
‘We’ll have to get from here and back to the tower,’ Sacha said urgently as she pulled and pulled on his coat sleeve. Mariah was transfixed by the whooshing of the clock as its large golden hands spun round and round, one forward, the other back.
‘Where are we?’ Mariah asked as he stared at the small gold numerals that edged the clock face.
‘I’ve never been on this level. I thought I’d seen the entire hotel, but …’ She looked surprised, her eyes staring at the row of silver-spanned crystal lamps that dangled from the ceiling and lit the passage. ‘They shine without gas, they’re so bright …’ Sacha covered her eyes from the brilliance of the light that shone from every crystal as if it were on fire. ‘We can’t stay, Mariah. If Bizmillah comes down the stairs they’ll know we’re here.’
Mariah didn’t reply. He stood before the wooden face, watching the hands spinning faster and faster. With every tick of the seconds and every quickly passing hour, Mariah fought the urge to reach out towards the spinning blades and plunge his hand deep within the winding hole and stop the movement there and then. The hour blade flashed brightly in the dazzling light of the chandeliers, flickering bright gold glimmers against his eyes. The second hand spun like a whip, its tip bending back with the furious speed at which it went about the face.
Mariah began to slowly reach towards the flashing blades, pushing his fingertips closer and closer.
‘No!’ screamed Sacha. ‘It’ll cut you through!’
Mariah broke free from his staring at the clock, the whirring of the hands blurring his eyes. ‘What?’ he murmured, not knowing what he was about to do or what had been said.
‘Bizmillah, Isambard Black – they’ll have heard us get in the elevator, we have to get out,’ Sacha said as she pulled on his sleeve again to drag him away. ‘Quickly, Mariah.’ She left him standing by the clock as she searched the corridor for a doorway to take them to the tower. ‘It must be here somewhere …’
Mariah followed, his mind numbed by the whirring of the clock and the thump, thump, thump of every second that seemed to vibrate though him, shaking the muscle from the bone until he felt like his whole body was a mass of dripping marmalade.
‘Find a door out of here,’ Sacha cried as she ran to the end of the corridor, pushing against the doors. None of them opened.
Mariah felt drawn back to the clock as if he had to stand before it and feel the ticking beat deeply within him. The spinning hands mesmerised his mind with a fascinating wonder. ‘Yeah,’ he said as he stumbled off in a daze, unsure how to plant his feet upon the rich pile carpet. In the distance he could see the brass-edged frame of a window, partly covered with thick velvet curtains printed with gawping swans. ‘There’s nothing here, nothing,’ Mariah muttered, still mesmerised by the clock as Sacha ran back and forth looking for a way out.
‘There has to be. We have to get out!’ Sacha squawked as she pushed past him, running to the window and pulling back the curtain.
There before them was a brass-framed window that had no glass. Where each pane should have been fixed was a black painted square wedged with fresh putty that smelt of night oil and seaweed. Sacha tapped a panel with the tips of her ghostly white fingers. It clunked with the dull thud of thick metal. Without speaking she took hold of the brass handle at the side of the frame and pulled it creakily towards her. There was a hiss of escaping air as if she had opened the lid of a jar of boiled jam. The smell of the sea was sucked up into the passageway as shreds of sea mist fell about their feet.
‘It’s not
a window, it’s a tunnel,’ Sacha said as she pulled the frame towards her. ‘Look!’
Mariah rubbed his eyes, trying to rid his mind of the ticking of the clock. He stared into the blackness of the hole that seemed to go on forever.
‘That’s a way out,’ Sacha said as she panted out of breath. ‘But as long as we can get out we should see what’s here.’
‘What about Bizmillah?’ Mariah asked, suddenly remembering who they had escaped from.
‘Don’t you see?’ she said. ‘The only way to this floor is by the elevator. We are here by mistake. If the steam pump hadn’t failed it would have taken us back to the theatre, but we’re here. This is the hotel. We are between floors, a secret level, and this leads to the sea. You can smell it.’
‘Then how do they get here?’ he asked.
‘They can stop the elevator or come through the tunnel. Bizmillah and Isambard Black won’t know of this place. It belongs to Mister Luger.’
‘How do you know that?’ Mariah asked.
‘It’s obvious,’ she said in her finest brogue. ‘The sign of the swan – they’re everywhere. Luger has a ring with the same crest, I saw it in the theatre when he came to watch Monica cut me in half. He sat on the front row and lit a cigar and there it was, the size of a sovereign, wedged on his fat finger.’
‘Why a secret floor?’ Mariah asked.
‘Why not? He built the hotel, he can do what he likes. Now I know where he comes to. He often disappears for hours and no one can find him. I bet you he comes here. Look at that,’ Sacha said, pointing to the door behind Mariah. ‘That one has some letters upon it – do you think it says Luger in Latin? CCCLXVI.’
‘I’ve seen them on the clock – they’re not letters, they’re numbers, Roman numbers … numerals,’ Mariah said quickly. ‘The key that I found, under the aspidistra in the corridor by the lift. I was walking to the theatre and there it was, by the picture of Luger on the horse. So I took it and hid it.’ Mariah fumbled in the sleeve of his coat and pulled out the key. ‘The letters match.’
‘Try it, Mariah,’ Sacha insisted as she snatched the key impatiently from his hand and looked at the numerals on the fob plate. ‘We can see inside.’
‘No, Sacha, it’s not for us to go looking in other people’s rooms,’ Mariah protested.
‘Then why did you take it? Gonna give it in, were you?’
‘Maybe,’ he said diffidently. ‘Maybe I would.’
‘Maybe you were gonna look for the room by yourself and sneak in and see what there was to take,’ she said quickly as she looked for the matching lock. ‘Now you’ve found it by chance. So come on, let’s sneak a peek. That’s all we’ll do and then we’ll put the key back where you found it, that’s all.’
‘I’m not going in. It’s too much trouble. Luger already knows about the Galvanised Bathing Machine. I heard him talking this morning. If he finds out we’ve been here, then … then I’m finished.’
‘We’re already finished. Better be hanged for a sheep than a lamb, and you never know, it might just be another way out and back to the tower.’ Sacha looked at the door, searching for the keyhole. ‘Leave the window open so we can get out if we need to. Somewhere on this door is the lock, but I just can’t see it.’
‘It’s not in the door, it’s here,’ Mariah said as he pointed to the thick brass plate that surrounded the door like a tight border. There, just above the wooden floor, was a small keyhole set into the brass. ‘You do it, Sacha. I’ll wait here and look out for Luger.’
For a moment Sacha looked at him and smiled. She saw the worry on his face and knew he didn’t want to be there.
‘Think of it as a game,’ she said as she bent down and put the key in the lock. ‘What can they do to us? If we get the sack then I’ll find you another job, they’re four a penny in these parts.’
‘I keep thinking of Felix – it’s as if he’s still here, trying to tell us something. When I found the key I just knew that he had touched it before me. It was as if the key told me.’
‘Talking keys? Whatever next, Mariah?’ Sacha said as she turned the key in the lock and pushed against the door.
A strong smell of cigar smoke seeped from the room like a thick fog as the door slowly opened. It was much heavier than Sacha thought it would be. Mariah held the door open as Sacha got to her hands and knees and crawled into the dark room. He looked at the side of the door. It was then he noticed that it was made of solid metal and that a slice of wood had been stuck to it with a hessian seal running around the outer edge.
From the brightness of the hallway he could see into the far corners of the room, where long black shadows were cast by the light that flooded in. The room was cluttered with furniture. Two high-backed leather chairs were pushed together by a large brick fireplace with a smouldering glow in the hearth. Between them was a narrow table embossed with patches of red leather. In the centre of the table was a gigantic glass bowl filled with musty grey ash. Hanging from the lip of the bowl was the smouldering stub of a fat cigar wrapped in a gold band. Over the fireplace was the stuffed head of a tiger that sneered at Mariah, its tongue hanging from the side of its cavernous mouth, a bullet hole between the eyes. In the far corner was yet another door, which had brass bolts top and bottom.
Sacha edged further into the room, getting to her feet and making ready to run. She felt as if she was being watched, that someone stood very near looking at everything she did. Turning to the side she saw a tall case, a sarcophagus cut into a shape resembling a standing man. It was encrusted with gold leaf and a face was painted upon it in blue and red with deep green eyes edged in gold. A crown decorated its head, cut in lines within the wood. It stared at her with a sullen smile formed by its glowing red lips.
‘Look, Mariah,’ Sacha said as she stepped away from the coffin so that he could see. ‘What is it?’
Mariah didn’t want to step into the room. Something told him that it was forbidden, that crossing the threshold would bring tribulation upon him. He leant in cautiously, holding on to the doorframe by his fingertips. Sacha pointed to the sarcophagus. ‘Looks like a coffin,’ Mariah said as he leant in further. ‘Some kind of tomb. I saw a drawing like that in the London Gazette. One had been stolen from the British Museum. They thought it was filled with gold.’
‘Shall we open it? We could be rich,’ Sacha said, already stepping forward and running her hand around the edge of the coffin, looking for a gap to prise open with her fingers.
‘There could be someone inside.’ Mariah coughed as the thought of opening the coffin made him step back into the passageway. He looked back and forth, peeking into the shaft of the tunnel and then towards the lift. ‘Don’t do it, Sacha, it’s for dead people. Come on, let’s go. We’ve seen enough. We can come back later.’ Mariah edged backwards, away from the box, the tiger staring down at him.
‘Just one look,’ Sacha insisted as she pulled against the lid, trying to slide her hand into the narrow gap she had found as she squeezed her fingers deeper. ‘It must open.’
‘Leave it, Sacha. I read they had a curse, if you open the coffin –’ he protested.
Mariah spoke too late. Sacha had slipped her hand within the sarcophagus and pulled against the lid. It held for a second and then suddenly gave way with a gentle sigh and the smell of dried figs. She slowly opened the lid as a cloud of thick dust fell about her feet and then billowed up into the air, swirling around her as if she was being engulfed in a swarm of black flies. Mariah hid behind the door, not wanting to look, the dirt-black dust spilling like sand across the polished wooden floor.
‘I can see … I can see a …’ Sacha said breathlessly as she stepped back from the coffin. The lid fell from its hinges and dropped heavily to the floor. It clattered against the side of the room, spilling a rack of bright military swords from the wall.
Mariah quickly looked up as the dust settled. Sacha was blackened from head to foot. She stood deathly still, hand over her mouth, staring into the darkness.
‘FELIX!’ she said slowly, her mouth stumbling to make any sound as the spit dried in her throat. ‘It’s … FELIX.’ Sacha stuttered her words. ‘He’s … dead.’ Through the slowly clearing dust, Sacha stared into the face of her friend. Felix stared back through open, waxen eyes, giving her a cere glare, his skin pulled tight across his lifeless face.
Sacha held back her scream, pushing her hand deep within her mouth to fight against the cry. She stepped back, pushing Mariah from the door, leaving behind the darkness and stepping into the light. Stumbling from the room, she fell to the floor and curled herself tightly like a bristling spiny hedge-pig. Her hands covered her face to keep out the light and the countenance of Felix that burnt into her mind’s eye.
‘No,’ she sobbed, holding up her hand as if to brush away the contours of his face that hovered above her like a haunting spectre.
Mariah hesitated, then slowly peered around the door and into the room. The sarcophagus lay open, its painted lid upon the floor. Several sharp swords were scattered about, criss-crossed in superstition, a sign that some old wives would say heralded the coming of a stranger. In the glow from the hearth he could make out the features of the boy who stared blindly at him, a waxen tear cupped in his eye. Tight swaddling bandages were wrapped securely around him.
Felix had been bound from the tip of his feet to the nape of his neck. The dark brown creosote rags pulled his arms to his side so tightly that they appeared as two long lumps beneath the cold linen. His skin had faded; it had a cold translucence that shimmered in the meagre light. Mariah stepped towards the boy to see more. He gulped back a cough as the dust fell about him. It was as if the body had been covered in a fine, drying lime that now glinted across the wooden floor in small desert-like mounds.