by G. P. Taylor
It was as if he were in an earthquake. He was violently tilted back and forth as the sleeping creature got to its feet and shook the sand from its body. Mariah was pressed against the ceiling. The Pagurus snapped its claws as it tasted the air and its one large red eye swivelled in its socket and stared at him.
As the Pagurus pressed him higher against the stone roof, hoping to scrape him from its shell and then pick him limb from limb and suck upon the juice, Mariah suddenly dived and flattened himself upon its back, keeping one hand upon the shovel as the other grasped for the beast’s eye. It snarled like a simmering pot as he held the eye in his hand, wanting to pull it from its socket. The Pagurus leant back, raising its claws high into the air as it snapped at him. It lurched from left to right, confined by the sand and the door as its sharp toes danced upon the stones below.
The beast showed no fear as Mariah hung on to its back, his hand upon the shovel. He had run from the creature before but now he felt compelled by powerful voices within him to stand and fight. The Pagurus stopped and looked at him as he cupped its eye in his hand. It seemed to taste the air and shimmer the long spiny hairs that covered its mouth.
‘I won’t run this time,’ Mariah said.
The crab rattled its claws like a jangling sabres, as if it had understood his words.
‘You or me?’ he asked as he flashed the shovel back and forth.
Another shudder of the rock exploded a shower of fine sand all around them like a swirling mist. The Pagurus trembled, and the clatter of snapping claws echoed through the tunnel. Mariah stared at the beast and the beast stared back. For a moment the Pagurus hesitated. Mariah took the broken blade and sliced it across his hand, shattering the creature’s eye.
It hissed and moaned as it then spun this way and that, grabbing blindly with its claws at everything and nothing. In one movement it threw Mariah to the floor and blindly took hold of the door, instinctively holding upon it with its large right claw.
Mariah smashed at the creature as its powerful legs stabbed at him time and again. He thrashed it across its back, the shovel bouncing from its carapace as if from the hardest steel. It backed against Mariah, pressing him against the wall with the cusp of its shell. He slid to the floor as it tried to dance upon him and impale his body to the sand, and as he grovelled beneath the beast he saw a multitude of fine red berries that clung to its underside. He brushed against the thick spines that covered each speared leg, while the Pagurus darted its fat claw towards him, trying to pluck him from his hiding place. Mariah stabbed the nest of eggs that clung to the queen’s shell. They burst upon him like a fall of fresh cranberries as he scrambled into the light. Taking the shovel, he rammed the blade into the creature’s mouth.
Like a madman he twisted the shaft back and forth, each time pressing it deeper and deeper. The Pagurus snapped with its mandibles and held its claws before it like praying hands. It froze upon its feet and then backed away, shuddering with every step.
Mariah pushed the shovel even deeper until the full handle was plunged within the beast. It groaned and spat as its claws were held in rigid spasm. Taking the triple blade from his belt, Mariah stabbed the crab again and again until his hands ran pink and green with the mucus that spewed from within. It juddered once more then fell to the floor – dead.
With the sand cleared, Mariah wasted little time in opening the doors and walking through the musty dank tunnels until he found his way to the landing that led into the hotel. The sound of moaning and creaking pipes vibrated the air around him, and he felt thoroughly alone. In the distance he could hear the crocogon wailing in the depths, barking and roaring like an old caged lion wanting to be fed.
Mariah pressed on, climbing the spiral staircase until his mind swirled. He jumped the stairs two at a time, clattering his footsteps against the stone. The brass pipe banister that coiled upwards was cooling to his touch; the whole of the Prince Regent began to groan and creak as it contracted with the growing cold.
Soon he had come to the door that would lead beyond the theatre to the lobby and eventually to Gormenberg’s office. It had been bolted from the inside with a sweeping brush wedged between its handles so that no one could come through, but Mariah managed to jolt the brush free and pulled the door open. He peered down the long corridor beyond the Trisagion and onwards towards the brightly lit foyer. The gold clock above him chimed the quarter hour and was echoed by the landing clocks throughout the hotel.
The lobby was empty, except for the old janitor who doddered back and forth with his brush and pail, sweeping the remnants of ashed cigars from the floor and turning down the lamps one by one.
Mariah walked as calmly as he could. He felt taller, almost a man. A painting of Luger – or was it Gormenberg? – stared at him, its eyes following his every step, an outstretched finger pointing accusingly. He smiled and nodded at the janitor as he walked past, turned the corner and stood before the oak-lined door of Luger’s office. His black suit was now tattered and torn, his shirt ripped and covered in the slime of the Pagurus.
For the first time he looked at the wall above the entrance to the hotel. It was a perspective he had not seen before. The revolving door had been folded shut and locked for the night. As he stared through the glass, Mariah could see a night porter stood on the steps outside in his thick padded coat with gold cuffs, beating his arms against himself to bang away the chill.
To one side a grand staircase swept upwards, its gold handrail shining in the dim light like the back of a coiled serpent rising from the deep green carpet that stretched from wall to wall. Pinned to the ceiling like an ornate plaster rose was yet another clock face. Its second hand swished anticlockwise as the minutes clicked onwards. A moon appeared and then set across the face, growing from new to full in a matter of seconds, as small stars like jewels and a golden sun went back and forth from behind silver clouds. Mariah was mesmerised by the whirring golden hand that appeared to spin faster and faster.
There was no sign of Albion or Black. Apart from the janitor there was no one at all. Mariah waited impatiently, strutting up and down outside the office door. He looked up to the clock several times and watched the minutes pass by slowly. There was still no sign of the agents from the Bureau as the janitor finished brushing the floor, gave Mariah a sorrowful glance and then walked away.
From above he finally heard footsteps. They thumped slowly down the steps from the high landing. He tried to follow them with his eye but in the dimmed lights could see no one. Mariah stepped back away from the door and into the shadows of a small alcove. He pressed himself against the dark oak panel and held his breath.
Gormenberg turned the corner and walked towards the office door. He seemed unconcerned, as if this was a night like any other night. Mariah could at last see his true face without the cover of the waxen mask that he had moulded to convince the world he really was Otto Luger. He looked younger than Mariah had expected, with a thick brow and razor-like jaw. His cheek was slashed with an old duelling scar that had been treated with salt to make it stand proud. It was longer and finer than the one Gustav had so arrogantly carried. The mark ran from Gormenberg’s right ear to just below the eye and looked like a crescent moon carved into his skin.
Mariah watched from his hiding place as Gormenberg fumbled in the deep pockets of his coat for a set of keys. He farted, then glanced to the clock that spun above him, opened the office door and stepped inside. There was still no sign of Albion and Black. Mariah looked up at the swirling clock: nine minutes to midnight. As he felt the shape of the dagger in his belt, he knew he had to go alone. He tapped on the door and waited nervously for a reply. The door to the office was slowly opened and Mariah stepped inside.
‘Mariah Mundi … How well you have escaped,’ Gormenberg said as he welcomed the lad into his office. ‘Of course you now know Albion and Black.’ He pointed to the two men tied together and strapped around a large marble pillar that appeared to hold up the roof. ‘I thought I had taken care of everyone
and like a bad penny you keep appearing. Whatever shall be done with you? I gave instructions to Monica to have you frozen and yet you are here before me alive and well.’
‘She’s dead,’ Mariah said calmly as he held the knife behind his back. ‘Fell into the vat and was frozen. Careless, really …’
‘And of course you had nothing to do with it?’ Gormenberg asked.
‘Everything,’ Mariah replied as he looked at Black.
‘Did you enjoy it, Mister Mundi? Did it give you a feeling of power?’ Gormenberg asked.
‘I felt nothing, my heart was cold, it had to be done,’ he said as he sidled across the room to the marble pillar and leant against it. Gormenberg sat in his leather chair, leaning against his wide desk.
There was no sight of the Midas Box. Mariah looked about the room, hoping to see a trace of the artefact.
‘So … What now?’ Gormenberg asked.
‘Why did you kill Luger? I found his bones in the cellar. It was you, wasn’t it?’
‘What does it matter?’ Gormenberg said to himself. He picked a handkerchief from his top pocket and folded it into his shirt neck as a napkin. ‘You’ll all be dead within the hour and I will be far away.’ He yawned and then farted again as he licked his fingers and then rubbed them against a bloodstain on his gold waistcoat. He glanced to the clock and then to the drawer of his desk. With a shaky right hand he slowly slid the drawer open and brought out a large golden plate. It was filled with cold fat sausages, gherkins, pickled onions, strips of bacon and stale fried bread. With his stubby fingers he began to pick a piece at a time and slip it into his mouth. ‘Always like to eat when I’m thinking – the more I think the more I eat. Especially animals. Once met a man who’d never eaten meat in his life – he was scrawny and thin with a pallor of death. Sort of man who’d die of measles or whooping cough. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to eat the ultimate meat – you know what I mean?’
Mariah knew exactly what he meant. He looked at Albion and Black, who struggled against the ties of the rope that bound them to the pillar. ‘How did you catch them?’ Mariah asked as he nodded towards the two men. ‘They’d come to get you.’
‘Our own fault,’ Albion said as he jabbed Black in the ribs with a sharp elbow.
‘Was your idea to check his office before midnight,’ Black squalled.
‘He was supposed to have been in the cellars,’ Albion protested.
‘Grimm and Grendel saw to that. My two friends had chased you through the sewers and got themselves lost – they eventually came out at the castle and with a shilling cab ride they were back at the Prince Regent just in time to catch your companions rummaging for the Midas Box where their greasy little fingers shouldn’t be …’
‘Grimm and Grendel caught you?’ Mariah asked them as he edged closer.
‘Not so much them but the pistols they carried,’ Black sniggered. ‘Albion insisted that this affair would not require the use of firearms – didn’t you, Perfidious?’
‘Soon be midnight,’ Gormenberg said, and to Mariah’s surprise he pulled the Panjandrum cards from his pocket and began to take them from the box one by one with his greasy fingers. He chomped and spoke at the same time, rolling the food around his mouth and dribbling constantly. ‘You see, Mariah, I now have everything I desire. A device to make gold and another to make the future. It would be tragic to allow these two buffoons to take them from me.’ He took the last fat sausage and slid it between his teeth like a succulent cigar. ‘Now I go in search of an alabaster box filled with mercury that can take me from one world to another. You, my friends, will await the largest explosion this country has ever seen. After, they will say I was lost in a natural disaster of Icelandic proportions, a Pompeii beyond Pompeii. When the steam from below the ground is not vented through the hotel it will blow a hole in the side of the earth that will engulf the hotel and half the town, and I will watch it all from the safety of the sea. Listen … Isn’t it wonderful? Silence …’
‘You’d kill us all for that?’ Mariah asked.
‘I’d kill you for less and would never get caught,’ Gormenberg replied as he rang a dainty bell that he kept on the top of his desk. ‘Grimm, Grendel,’ he called. ‘All our guests are now assembled and I am to leave. Five minutes to midnight and I have one last task before I say goodbye the Prince Regent.’ Gormenberg put the Panjandrum cards back into the box and then into his pocket.
The door opened and the two detectives stepped into the room. Their fine suits were covered in mud and torn at the knees. Each held a small pistol uncomfortably in his hand.
Grimm smirked his usual smirk and ruffled himself like a cock hen. ‘Nice to see you face to face. Chased your dust for so long I wondered what you would look like,’ he said to Mariah.
‘Suppose I’ll be tied here to await my fate whilst you all escape?’ Mariah asked as he stepped against the column.
‘Suppose you’re right, lad. Take your place and I’ll see to you,’ Grimm said as Grendel hovered nervously behind him, a twitch taking hold of his left eye and jerking his head.
Mariah quickly stepped against the column and with the knife began to secretly cut the bonds that held Albion to Black.
‘I will see you on the steamship Tersias,’ Gormenberg said as he stood from his desk. ‘Do not be longer than the hour or you will share their fate. I have to get the Midas Box. Don’t be late.’ He placed his folded handkerchief upon the plate, picked a pickled gherkin, stuffed it into his mouth and then left the room.
The door slammed behind him and he was gone. Mariah could hear the strands of rope being cut through as he pressed the knife against them.
‘Careful, lad,’ Black whispered. ‘Nearly through.’
‘Do you think you could show me the glasses just one more time – the ones you followed me with in the sewer?’ Mariah asked boldly as he played to Grimm’s pride. ‘Show them to my friends, it would be most interesting.’
The detective cast a glance at his companion and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Suppose it’ll do no harm – always best to end a life on a curiosity.’ Grimm pulled the spectacles from his pocket and placed them on his nose, slipping the wire frames around his cauliflower ears.
‘So you can see where anyone has been?’ Mariah asked.
‘Like a vapour trail of red mist that goes behind us all, unseen by everyone,’ Grimm chortled like a proud professor.
‘Even where Gormenberg has gone?’ he asked.
‘Even Gormenberg,’ Grimm said bluntly. ‘All I would have to do is take his handkerchief and hold it here.’ He held the stained white cloth to his face. ‘And then I turn this dial and once the frequency is registered I could follow him forever.’
‘I must see,’ Mariah pleaded as whimsically as he could rouse himself to be. ‘Please?’
Grimm looked at his sad and pleading eyes and lopsided smile. He took the spectacles from his face and placed them carefully upon Mariah’s nose. ‘There,’ he said kindly. ‘The lad can go from this world knowing what they’re like.’
Grendel nodded, his hand shaking and his twitch growing stronger as it lurched his head from side to side.
Mariah suddenly could see a swirling red mist that formed a trail of vapour from the seat behind the desk and through the door. Upon the wooden floor were thick red blotches like the footprints of a monster that trailed across the room.
‘And you got these from the Americas?’ he asked.
‘From a prophet, a man who said he could read etchings on plates he found on a mountain. Never a stranger tale have I ever heard,’ Grimm said. He looked at Grendel, who was having trouble keeping his feet upon the ground.
‘So, Mister Grimm. You are finally the victor and we the defeated,’ Albion interrupted.
‘Quite so, quite so. A strange accident of fate,’ Grimm replied, quite distracted.
‘There are no such thing as accidents, Mister Grimm, no such thing,’ Albion said, and he twisted his wrists and snapped the severed ro
pes. As if he were some mountain beast, Albion threw himself at Grimm, knocking him to the floor. Grendel, stunned by what he saw, raised the pistol to shoot, but it danced around on the end of his fingers as if it had a life of its own.
‘No!’ shouted Grimm, in fear of his life as Grendel aimed the pistol at his head.
Black leapt towards Grendel, kicking out as he jumped over Mariah’s head and landing on the twitching detective like a leopard on a jackass. ‘Run, Mariah!’ he screamed. ‘Find Gormenberg before he escapes the town,’ he shouted as he punched the detective in the face and grappled with the gun in his hand.
Mariah hesitated. Albion held Grimm to the floor and looked momentarily towards him, his brow sweated as he wrestled with the detective. ‘Go, lad! Find him and we’ll follow.’
The Prince Regent lurched suddenly as a fresh tremor arched the building and shuddered it violently. Debris fell from the ceiling, and the sound of cracking wood on the panelled oak walls ripped the air like splintering bone. The deep silence of the dormant hotel was broken as the screams of guests in faraway rooms filled the night like the cry of a thousand ghosts lamenting their own death.
As Black and Albion fought on, Mariah ran to the door and into the lobby. The staircase and the hallway were filled with panicking people escaping to the street clad in only their night-clothes. A trail of red footsteps led to the stairway. Mariah scoped the scene, the divining spectacles casting a glow around everyone at whom he looked.
The fleeing bodies left a trail of dark light like a living shadow; it was as if Mariah stared upon a field of ghosts that ran down the stairs. Many were screaming, the shuddering of the hotel having frightened them from their warm beds and chased them into the cold street. He pursued the footsteps as fast as he could, the red vapour billowing about his feet. Far behind he heard four gunshots, and then complete silence.
