Mariah Mundi

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘There is nothing of chance in this, Isambard,’ Perfidious said as he got to his feet and held out a hand to the man. ‘I have been saved by this young rascal. A simple introduction should suffice – Mariah Mundi, meet Isambard Black.’

  Mariah’s eyes flickered from one man to the other. He looked for a place to run to but knew he would be cornered upon the roof. Black stood within a sword strike of him and could cut him down easily with one blow should he desire.

  ‘I’ve met him before … He’s the man who has stolen the Panjandrum from me,’ Mariah said as he stepped behind Albion.

  ‘And you never told him, Isambard?’ Albion asked lightly.

  ‘He never asked. I tried as he ran off, jumped from the window and across the roof like a frightened rat.’ Black laughed. It was the first time Mariah had seen the slightest hint of mirth in the man’s life. Gone was the crusted grimace of the train as he smiled warmly and was changed in an instant.

  ‘And you have the cards?’ Perfidious Albion asked.

  Isambard Black held out a gloved hand and showed him the case of the Panjandrum. ‘All except one that Mariah has in his pocket. The Joker. Quite fitting for such a lad.’

  ‘Are you in on this, Perfidious?’ Mariah asked as he tried to step away.

  ‘In on it?’ Black laughed. ‘He is it!’

  ‘Mariah, meet my brother, Isambard Black, and like you, me and Captain Charity a former pupil of the Colonial School. In short, you have been followed from the day you left. Sadly, so was I. That is why I handed you the cards, knowing you would be in good company and that my brother would keep you safe.’

  ‘But he doesn’t have your name?’ Mariah questioned him.

  ‘No, a slight perchance of different mothers but the same father. Shall we say that Colonel Albion liked to stroll below stairs … We were born in the same year and the old Colonel took us as his own.’

  ‘He took you as the heir and me as the spare,’ Black said roughly under his breath.

  ‘And you knew of Charity when you sat in the carriage?’ Mariah asked angrily.

  ‘Who ever could forget old Charity? Four years older and still as stern now as he was then.’

  ‘So I am a pawn outplayed by a powerful Queen with hands that work both black and white?’ Mariah asked indignantly as he looked at them both.

  ‘It is our job to track down items of interest. Things that are unusual and whose presence in the world would cause … alarm to those who –’ Perfidious flustered.

  ‘Those who are not used to the supernatural. Cards that can foretell the future, boxes that change objects to gold,’ Black finished his brother’s words in a matter-of-fact way.

  ‘The Midas Box?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘Precisely, the Midas Box. We are here to take charge of these items and revert any damage that may have been done,’ Isambard Black went on.

  ‘So you’re the police?’ Mariah enquired as his mind raced to discover who they were.

  ‘Not exactly, more the Bureau of Antiquities,’ Black replied as he straightened his collar with one hand and sheathed the sword-cane.

  ‘Spook hunters,’ Perfidious Albion said with a smile. ‘We have to find the Midas Box and destroy it before Otto Luger can turn everything into gold. But … we don’t think he is who he would like us to believe he really is.’

  ‘Otto is dead,’ Mariah said, adopting of their matter-of-fact way of speaking of such weighty things. ‘Found him in the foundations with a knife wound in him.’

  ‘Then it is as you thought, Isambard,’ Perfidious said. ‘It is Gormenberg …’

  The two men looked at each other and then to the boy. Isambard Black nodded to Albion, saying much in the raising of his brow and a stare of his eye.

  ‘But he looks just like the paintings of Luger that are around the hotel,’ Mariah said.

  ‘He is an artist of a different kind, a sculptor and maker of the finest waxworks in Europe. What you see is a reconstruction of Luger’s face and not even his closest friends could tell the difference. We have been tracking him for many years. Suddenly all went quiet and no one knew where he had gone. Then we heard that a man had found the Midas Box. Gormenberg had changed identities, stolen someone’s life and become them. Easy, really, if you know how. Quite a business he’s got going on.’ Black fumbled with his fob watch.

  ‘How did you know I had the Panjandrum?’ Mariah asked Black as the two men huddled together.

  ‘You were traced by your own intrigue. Remember in the carriage when I fell to the floor? I left the small skull, knowing you would find it. Inside the skull was a fragment of stone chipped from a larger block. When another piece from the same block comes into its presence and is mounted in gold it vibrates. How it works I don’t even dream to know, but with my fob watch I can find it every time. Look.’ Black showed Mariah his watch, the thick second hand glowing in the dark and pointing to his room. ‘I knew that if you were involved you would have kept the Panjandrum and the skull together. Perfidious sent a telegram to say he had given the cards to you and the rest was, shall we say, down to modern science.’

  ‘But I saw you talking to Bizmillah and he works for Luger,’ Mariah argued.

  ‘Shall we say, that after my conversation he is now of a different persuasion?’ Black laughed again, the smile suiting his face.

  ‘Not enough to free me from my room when he came a-visiting with my supper,’ Albion moaned.

  ‘He knew not of our relationship and before the performance he told me quite clearly where you were lodged. But this is enough of talk. It is vital that our work is done at midnight.’ Black stopped and looked to Mariah. ‘One thing,’ he said slowly. ‘The Joker – slide it into the deck.’

  Black held out the cards towards him. Mariah took the Joker from his pocket and slid it into the middle of the pack. They shuddered in his hand as if they all were alive and had suddenly hiccupped.

  ‘I take it that your inclination was to see what they could do?’ Black asked Mariah.

  ‘Never again,’ said the lad

  ‘Good. It is always best to leave such things until you know what to do with them. The only way these can be destroyed is by being turned to gold – we need the Midas Box for that, and then it too will meet a similar fate.’

  ‘Why destroy the cards?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘We can’t have people looking into the future. Knowing what is to come does us no good. Yet it is man’s fascination. We cannot be content with here and now. The Panjandrum knows that and tells us half-truths. The cards mix our imagination with what will happen and then spin it before our eyes.’ Albion tapped the deck of cards in Black’s outstretched hand. ‘They have a life of their own, but soon they will be solid gold.’

  ‘How will you find the Midas Box?’ Mariah asked as the steam elevator chugged away from the floor, summoned from below. ‘It could be hidden anywhere.’

  ‘At midnight Gormenberg will try to use it again and we will be there to free him from his misery.’

  ‘You’ll steal the Midas Box?’ Mariah asked.

  Both Black and Albion hesitated and looked at each other, neither wanting to speak.

  ‘We’ll kill Gormenberg first,’ Albion said quietly. ‘It’s the policy of the Bureau of Antiquities – leave no one to tell of what has gone on.’

  ‘So what of me?’ Mariah asked slowly.

  ‘Your future was decided on the day you left the Colonial School,’ Black said softly.

  [ 30 ]

  Trisagion

  THE brass-studded leather door to the Trisagion was locked from the inside. When Mariah knocked gently, a small silver letterbox was opened and a pair of dark eyes glared through.

  ‘Yes?’ asked a deep voice the colour of the stare.

  ‘I have to meet Captain Charity,’ Mariah said as he looked up. ‘He’ s expecting me.’

  The man scowled at him. Mariah heard the lock quickly turn and the door slowly opened.

  ‘Quickly!’ said the voice. ‘Vis
itors are not welcome, residents and members only.’

  Mariah was hurried through. He stood in a large smoke-filled room that looked like the saloon of a gigantic ocean-going vessel. In the far wall were row upon row of portholes surrounded by circles of brass. High above them was the mast of a sailing ship festooned with flags of merchant vessels and men-o’-war. A hand-carved ebony drinks bar ran along the side wall. It was guarded by a tall thin man with poky eyes and a thin moustache that clung to his lip like a spider’s leg.

  The doorman pushed Mariah in the back to move him along. Mariah searched the room with his eyes, looking for the Captain. A sea of high-backed leather chairs rested on the polished wooden floor like so many coracles upon the water. From each came a plume of bright blue smoke. All was silent except for the rasping of an occasional cough and the folding of the pages of a large sail-like newspaper.

  The doorman pushed Mariah again, grunting for him to move and pointing to a chair by the log fire that burnt in the hearth of a high marble fireplace. On the mantelpiece was an ornate clock that chimed the hour, merrily keeping time with his steps. He walked among the chairs and quickly glimpsed the occupants of each. Many were hid behind columns of thick black letters, their piggy fingers gripping the pages. Each chair was equipped with its own candelabra, attached to its wings. The candles burnt brightly, shining through the translucent pages and casting a shadow of the reader across the paper. By every reader was a small table, every one the same, leather-topped and ebony-based. Some had crystal decanters at various stages of emptiness. All had a large tumbler of whisky, a metal ashtray and a cigar scissor.

  At the four corners of the room were waiters dressed in dark suits. Each stood silently, tray in hand, waiting for a hidden signal of some requirement. They eyed Mariah as he crossed the room. It was as if they knew whom he was to visit, their glare going from him to the chair by the fire and then back again.

  By the fireplace he found Captain Charity sat in a dark shadow, the candelabra on his leather chair extinguished. The Captain sat back, a blanket covering his legs and white gloves upon his hands.

  ‘Mariah,’ he whispered expectantly, his voice gruffed so as not to be overheard. ‘Did you find the cards?’

  Mariah hesitated as he glanced to the fire and then to the Captain.

  ‘Did you find them?’ he asked again just above a moan.

  ‘Yes … No …’ Mariah said.

  ‘The cards, Mariah – have you got them?’ the voice whispered insistently.

  ‘I was found out. I was told to give you this.’ The lad held out his hand and pressed a small visiting card into Charity’s grip.

  Charity read the embossed gold letters: ‘Isambard Black … Bureau of Antiquities.’

  ‘They told me to tell you that they would see you outside Luger’s room just before midnight.’

  ‘They?’ asked Charity.

  ‘Yes. They have the Panjandrum for safekeeping. They said you would know who they were. Black and Albion – they told me they knew you all along, that –’ Mariah stopped short. In his heart he knew there was something wrong.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Charity as he sat further back in the chair. ‘They are here … Good,’ he went on, thinking as he spoke. ‘Now I want you to do something. Take this key and go to the cellar. The man at the door will go with you – don’t worry, he can be trusted. Wait for me by the door to the sea and when I have finished my business I will join you. Find Albion and Black and tell them to come with you.’ Charity coughed, his voice somehow different. ‘Now go on, this is members only.’

  Mariah stared at the shadowy face, unsure what to do. Charity attempted a half-smile and nodded slightly. For the briefest of moments, Mariah thought he had seen the skin on Charity’s face move, as if it suddenly melted in the heat of the fire.

  ‘Go on,’ Charity said as he put his hand to his chin and wafted his face with a folded copy of the London Times. ‘My man will see you to the cellar – go with him quickly.’

  Mariah nodded and stepped away, unsure if he had witnessed an aberration of nature or if his eyes deceived him.

  ‘This way,’ said the doorman with the black piercing eyes. ‘I know where you have to go – do you have the key?’ His voice sounded like it had come from far away, from another continent, a land torn with enmity and revolution. ‘We will take the steam elevator, it will save time.’

  They were out of the door and along the corridor before Mariah could think of what was happening. Mariah turned and saw Albion and Black in the lobby of the hotel as he was pushed on by the doorman. They were sat on a long couch with red tassels, Albion clutching a leather bag as Black rolled his walking stick from hand to hand.

  Mariah looked at his escort, staring at the scar on the side of the man’s face. It was fresh and looked like a strip of salted meat standing proud of his skin. ‘Must’ve hurt,’ he said, pointing to the scar.

  ‘An accident. My own fault, I should have been quicker,’ the man replied proudly.

  ‘Known Captain Charity for long?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘Charity?’ The man asked as he rubbed his chin. ‘Ah! Captain Charity!’ He sniggered as he slid the door to the steam elevator and was about to step inside.

  ‘ALBION! BLACK!’ screamed Mariah suddenly as he set off to run, suddenly realising the doorman didn’t know whom he was talking about.

  ‘NO!’ screamed the man, and he jumped for Mariah, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to the elevator. ‘You come with me.’ The man pulled on his sleeve, tearing the material from the shoulder.

  ‘ALBION!’ Mariah screamed and waved his hands, trying to attract their attention. ‘HELP!’ The words dropped from his lips as he fell to the floor. Albion looked up and saw him being dragged from the corridor and into the elevator. He sprang to his feet and ran towards him.

  ‘Quickly, Isambard,’ he said as he ran towards the elevator. ‘They have Mariah.’

  The two men ran along the corridor as the door to the Trisagion opened quickly and out stepped a stunted Captain Charity.

  ‘Jack!’ shouted Black as he twisted his cane and slipped the sword hidden in the case a hand’s breadth from the hilt. ‘They have the lad.’

  Charity didn’t move. He stood in the marbled passageway holding the side of his face, whose flesh appeared to drool through his fingers.

  ‘What’s the matter, man?’ asked Black. ‘They’re getting away.’

  Charity reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a silver pistol, pointing at the men. ‘No further!’ he said, slowly stepping towards the elevator. ‘One more step and I’ll shoot you dead.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Charity,’ said Albion as he got closer. ‘They’ll hang you.’

  Charity aimed the pistol. ‘Gustav!’ came the voice of Otto Luger from behind the wax mask of Captain Charity’s face. ‘Hold the elevator, we have unwelcome guests.’ With one hand he pulled the melting wax from his face. ‘Not my best creation, but one which worked well. Stay back, Mister Bureau of Antiquities, or you will be dead.’

  ‘Gormenberg!’ Said Albion as he stood back from the man. ‘After all these years and halfway across the world we finally meet. Every city a different name, and we find you keeping a boarding house at the end of the line.’

  ‘Not a boarding house but the finest hotel in the world, a pearl in a sea of periwinkles. You will have to search again, for I am about to disappear. The sea air was so good for me that I think I will return to the city.’ Gormenberg pulled the shreds of waxed skin from his face. ‘The Bureau of Antiquities will never find me.’

  ‘We want the Midas Box, Gormenberg. It should have been destroyed years ago.’

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen. If it were mine to give then I would oblige, but only those with the highest ideals should keep such a thing. Is the Bureau so short of money that it would want to make its own gold?’

  ‘If that were the case, Gormenberg, then we would use the Philosopher’s Stone – that we have had for many years,’ Black
said as he slipped the sword from the hilt of his walking cane. ‘We never leave empty-handed.’

  ‘How about empty-headed?’ Gormenberg asked as he aimed the pistol at Black.

  Black and Albion walked towards him, steely-faced.

  ‘Then not for your own safety but for his?’ Gormenberg asked as he turned the pistol to Mariah. ‘One more step and I will shoot the boy between the eyes – simple …’

  ‘Do it, Gormenberg! Right here and now,’ Mariah shouted as he kicked out at the doorman, smashing his feet into his shins.

  ‘Do it, Mister Luger, kill the little brat right now,’ shouted the doorman as he tried to dance away from Mariah’s sharp feet.

  ‘Later,’ Gormenberg said, quickly slipping into the lift with Mariah and the doorman and sliding the metal door firmly across. ‘Don’t wait for us, gentlemen of the Bureau. All the doors to the cellars are now secure and the steam elevator will be turned off. In fact stay right where you are for when I close the valve on the steam things should become quite … explosive.’

  The steam elevator dropped suddenly from sight. It flashed past many floors until the air brakes suddenly began to drag the carriage and slow it to a halt.

  Gormenberg took Mariah by the ear and twisted it in his fingers. ‘So glad you can come. You’ll have a ringside seat for the end of your world.’

  ‘Where’s Charity?’ Mariah asked, not caring what would be done to him.

  ‘Detained, indisposed and tied up. Not really an adversary of any worth. All I desire in life is to be challenged by a foe who is truly worthy.’ Gormenberg picked the last pieces of wax from his face and stared at Mariah eye to eye. ‘You had possibilities, boy. I didn’t want to have you in the oyster farm – thought you could have worked for me in the real world.’

  ‘My father told me –’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, your father is in no place to tell you anything,’ Gormenberg snapped as he twisted Mariah’s ear even harder, dragging him from the elevator and through a narrow tunnel until he came to his laboratory. He shouted to the doorman, who pushed Mariah into the room.