Mariah Mundi and the Ship of Fools

by G. P. Taylor

  Charity stood his ground as he shielded Mariah from the assassin. ‘If I am not mistaken then that is sodium hydride and if the flask is broken there will be a large explosion.’

  ‘It goes bang, if that’s what you mean,’ the man replied. ‘Out of my way, Charity. Just open the door and I’ll be gone.’

  ‘But you’re on a ship with one thousand people – how will you ever escape?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘Now I know why they want you dead – and are willing to pay a price.’

  ‘I’ll open the door if you tell me who sent you here,’ Charity said.

  ‘You’ll open the door or else will explode – there shall be no more questions,’ the man replied as he sucked the air nervously through his teeth.

  Charity pulled the handle and opened the door. The man stepped from the trunk and looked at Mariah.

  ‘I’ll be back for you … Some time, some place … Your death waits,’ he said as he edged past Charity and into the corridor.

  Then the door slammed into his back, knocking him to the floor.

  ‘Get down, Mariah!’ Charity shouted as he leapt towards the man.

  In an instant the assassin spun out of the way and jumped to his feet like a cat. Charity crashed to the floor of the empty corridor.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d just let me go,’ the man said breathlessly. ‘They told me that Charity would want to fight.’

  Charity kicked out with his feet, knocking the man to the ground. But again, as Charity dived for him, the man leapt to his feet as if he were an acrobat.

  ‘You must be getting old,’ the man scoffed. ‘Let me go unhindered and give up your foolish games.’

  Charity drew his pistol as he got to his feet, aiming it at the man’s head.

  ‘I never thought I should have to use this, but needs must …’

  Before Charity had finished speaking, the assassin threw the circular flask of sodium hydride towards him. It spun like a forbidden planet through space. Mariah leapt from the doorway and seized the orb before it could hit the floor. The man jumped forwards, twisted and somersaulted, and snatched the pistol from Charity’s hand.

  ‘You are getting old,’ he said as he stepped away. ‘Perhaps it would be a good thing just to kill you both – here and now.’

  The man clicked the hammer of the pistol and took aim. Mariah catapulted the orb as hard as he could. Just as the assassin fired the pistol the orb smashed on his forehead.

  ‘Run!’ shouted Charity as the assassin dropped the gun and staggered back, trying to scrape the gelatinous substance from his burning face.

  The corridor shook as an incredible fireball exploded above them. It rolled like a thick black cloud along the ceiling of the passageway. Mariah turned to see the assassin shudder and then disappear in the smoke. He hid his eyes for a moment and then looked back again. The assassin was gone.

  Charity got to his feet and wiped the dust from his coat. Mariah saw the bullet hole in his chest pocket.

  ‘You’ve been shot,’ he said, wondering why Charity wasn’t injured.

  ‘Spiderweb,’ Charity said as he looked down at a pile of dust, all that remained of the assassin. ‘Completely bulletproof and hand made in Huntress Row. A strange new material.’

  [4]

  The Lost Quatrain

  MARIAH woke in the early hours of the morning, just as daylight was breaking over the horizon. It streamed into his cabin through the small circular porthole above his bed. The ship moved gently back and forth as it cut through the cold water. The bed appeared to stay immobile as the springs connecting it to the floor absorbed the ship’s motion.

  He thought of the night before. The terrified look on the assassin’s face was still etched in his mind. Again and again he saw the final moments of the man’s life and watched him explode and vanish to dust. Mariah had fallen asleep thinking of the man and wondering if he had been the one who had shot the boy on the train. He also wondered who had sent the assassin and why they wanted to kill him.

  The night before, Charity had treated the incident in his usual matter-of-fact way. He had called the steward and informed the captain. Dutifully the pile of dust that was the assassin’s mortal remains had been swept from the carpet. The corridor had been re-painted and before they had retired to their suite it looked as if nothing had ever occurred.

  Captain Charity had taken out a bottle of liquor from his travelling bag and poured himself a small glass. He had then opened a long black tin and buttered some biscuits. He had sent Mariah to bed with the words, ‘Life is an adventure, Mariah, and sometimes we may not wake up from our sleep.’

  Mariah had slept fitfully. The sound of the engine had droned for the first hour and invaded what dreams he had. He was aware that at one point in the night the ship had sailed through a storm. The glasses had clinked and chinked in the cupboard next to his bed and he had heard something rolling back and forth across the cabin floor as the ship rocked.

  ‘I have taken the liberty of ordering our first breakfast in our suite,’ Charity said as he opened the door to the sleeping cabin and looked in on Mariah. ‘I thought we could plan what is to be done.’

  ‘I can’t stop thinking of the assassin,’ Mariah said anxiously.

  ‘If he had succeeded in his task, would he be thinking of you?’ Charity asked. ‘No, Mariah, he would not. The man would be at breakfast, eating his sausages – and so shall we …’

  For a few moments Charity vanished into the bathroom. Mariah washed and dressed, then peered from the porthole at the vast desert of ocean that surrounded the ship.

  Breakfast came on a silver tray. The steward slipped quietly into the room and placed the tray on the table, bowed to Mariah and then left the room. Within the hour, eleven sausages, six slices of bread, a jar of pickled onions and four eggs had all gone.

  ‘I think it must be the sea air,’ Charity said as he sank back in the divan chair and closed his eyes.

  Mariah’s mind was elsewhere. He looked at the jacket that Charity had worn the night before. The bullet hole was no longer visible.

  ‘What is Spiderweb?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t rightly know.’ Charity yawned his words. ‘It was developed for the Bureau some years ago. It is knifeproof, protects from bullets and will not catch fire.’

  ‘Are all your clothes made from it?’

  ‘Every one,’ Charity replied. ‘Even my undergarments.’

  ‘Fireproof undergarments?’ Mariah asked disbelievingly.

  ‘You never know when they will be needed,’ Charity replied with a snore.

  ‘The bullet hole in your coat has gone – it’s as if it never happened,’ Mariah said.

  ‘That is why it’s called Spiderweb. Break the web of a spider and the next day it is as perfect as it was before.’ Charity paused as he sighed with tiredness. ‘Everything in your trunk is just the same. A precaution I thought I would take, just in case.’

  ‘Did you know my life was in danger?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘A suspicion, nothing more,’ Charity replied reluctantly.

  ‘Do you think the assassin was alone?’ Mariah asked as he ate the last pickled onion from the bowl next to the large but empty silver teapot.

  ‘Possibly not, that is why you should carry this at all times.’ Charity pulled a long leather case from under his chair. He placed it upon his lap, flicked the silver hinges and opened the lid. From where he was standing, Mariah could see that the box contained a pair of small pistols.

  ‘So you think I will need a gun?’ Mariah enquired nervously.

  ‘Not one gun, but two. Strap one to your ankle and keep the other in your pocket at all times. Only use the ankle gun when you have to. And Mariah – your life could depend on it.’

  ‘Why should they want to kill me? Who’s behind all this?’ he asked.

  ‘The Bureau of Antiquities has many enemies. At the Prince Regent Hotel you met only two of them. Dedalus Zogel is a man beyond the law. He alone has good enough reason to
see us both killed.’

  Mariah took the pistols from the box and strapped one to his ankle. It felt uncomfortable and rubbed against the top of his boot. The other he slipped into the pocket of his coat. He had the urge to fire the gun to see if the Spiderweb would stop the bullet. His finger grasped the trigger.

  ‘I should warn you about one thing,’ Charity said. ‘They are not ordinary pistols. Pull the safety catch back and it will fire – push it forward and it will spurt fire from the barrel.’ His words were cut short by a knock at the door. ‘Are we expecting anyone?’ he asked quietly as he got to his feet.

  Mariah stepped away from the door as he turned the handle to see who was outside. The passageway was empty. Mariah looked back and forth but could see no one. By his feet was a silver tray. On the tray was a small, neat envelope addressed to Captain Charity.

  ‘Looks like an invitation,’ Mariah said as he handed it to Charity. ‘But whoever left it has gone.’

  ‘Then we shall see,’ replied Charity as he held the envelope up to the light to see what was inside. ‘It looks safe enough,’ he said, and he opened the envelope with his fingers.

  Inside was a small green card with silver writing etched across the surface. It looked like a small emerald mirror. Charity studied it closely and then carefully handed it to Mariah.

  ‘We are invited for dinner by the Marquis DeFeaux,’ Mariah said as he read the words on the card. ‘In his suite on Deck 13. Place the invitation into the steam elevator and access shall be gained …’

  ‘And his messenger vanished before we could reply,’ Charity said as he took the card from Mariah and looked at it again.

  ‘I take it we cannot refuse?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘The Marquis DeFeaux is not a man to be ignored. He is the owner of the Triton and the one who requested the presence of the Bureau of Antiquities.’

  ‘Perhaps he has heard about the assassin,’ Mariah said.

  ‘Perhaps he sent him …’ Charity replied.

  Mariah never mentioned the assassin again that day. The morning was spent walking the deck of the Triton, until they had walked for five miles. The promenade was packed with people of all sorts. Suited gentlemen followed skirted ladies like pet dogs. Mariah tried to listen to their conversations as he walked by, keeping pace with Charity’s military stride. All the time he looked out for the assassin’s accomplice, and every man who looked at him for more than a second was treated with suspicion. By lunchtime, the walk was complete. They ate together on the reserved foredeck, all the time watching out for some sign of the Ketos. The other passengers looked on, wondering why the man and boy had a place of such privilege. Far below, the Atlantic was calm as an old millpond. On the furthest horizon was a faint billowing of smoke – a sign, Charity said, of the funnels of the Ketos. Mariah peered through Captain Charity’s spyglass, but could see nothing.

  Above them, the Bicameralist sailed on majestically. At one o’clock in the afternoon it blotted out the sun and covered the ship in a deep shadow. With not one cloud in the sky, the skyship looked as though it were a broken piece of the moon floating upon the deep azure.

  By late afternoon the skyship had sailed on faster than the Triton until it could no longer be seen. It was then that Mariah saw the ship on the port side. At first it seemed to be going the same way, heading out to the deep Atlantic and away from the Irish coast. Sometime later it turned and began to steam towards the Triton at full speed. Taking the spyglass he looked towards the ship and saw a man on the bridge of the ship flash a coded message towards the Triton. As if in recognition of what had been said, the Triton gave seven loud blasts upon its horn and then began to slow down.

  Mariah looked again, and again a message in light was flashed from the ship and the Triton blasted its horn.

  ‘I think we have an important guest,’ Mariah said to Captain Charity as, wrapped in two large blankets, he dozed in a deck chair.

  ‘Does the vessel have two funnels?’ Charity asked Mariah.

  Mariah looked at the ship through the telescope. ‘Two funnels and a small mast,’ he replied.

  ‘And are they painted gold and red?’ he asked without opening his eyes.

  Mariah looked again. ‘Gold and red with a band of black,’ he said.

  ‘Then our guest is the Marquis Lyon DeFeaux and that is his ship, the Diablo.’

  It was not long before Mariah could read the nameplate on the front of the vessel that steamed full ahead towards them. On deck he could see several men with long rifles and an older man in a fur hat and matching coat that looked as though it had been forcibly taken from the back of a polar bear.

  The Diablo turned slowly as it drew to a halt in the shadow of the great ship. Without any fuss, a wooden launch was lowered into the sea. The man in the fur hat stepped on board, followed by two other figures dressed exactly the same. They hunched together in the back of the boat as if to keep warm as a giant of a man took the helm and sailed the craft towards the Triton.

  ‘They’re about to come on board,’ Mariah said, hoping to interest Charity in doing something other than sleeping on the deck.

  ‘Really?’ Charity replied without concern. ‘Is there a Leviathan of a man steering the launch?’ He had some mysterious way of seeing that which he could not see.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mariah, impatiently, ‘and two others dressed exactly the same as the Marquis.’

  ‘Then we shall be truly blessed at dinner,’ Charity snorted with a laugh. ‘The mountainous man is Casper Vikash – his bodyguard. The others will be his wife and daughter.’

  ‘Do you know him well?’ Mariah asked as the small launch came alongside and Mariah could see it no more.

  ‘The Marquis Lyon DeFeaux has few friends and even fewer enemies,’ Charity said mordantly.

  ‘Fewer enemies?’ asked Mariah.

  ‘He has fewer enemies because he has them all murdered,’ Charity whispered his reply, quite satisfied.

  Within a few minutes the Lorenzo Generator was powering the ship towards the horizon. Mariah took a final glimpse of the Diablo through the spyglass. Far to the east, the sea swallowed the sun as, high above, a spectral carpet of stars began to appear.

  Later, in Suite 395 Charity and Mariah dressed for dinner.

  ‘Does this jacket have Spiderweb?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Charity replied. ‘At dinner you can be attacked by the most perilous of creatures.’

  Mariah thought about replying but didn’t speak. In his mind he had strange pictures of being assaulted by a malicious kipper or disgruntled sirloin. He kept the thought to himself and was soon dressed in the image of Captain Charity. He wore a long tailcoat, a white starched shirt that rubbed his neck and a delicate cummerbund of black silk.

  ‘You look like your father,’ Charity said, smiling. ‘He would be proud of you.’

  ‘Did he carry a gun and wear Spiderweb?’ Mariah asked as he thought of his father, unsure if he could ever imagine him ready to kill.

  ‘I never asked and the circumstances never came about,’ Charity said as he looked at Mariah, wondering what thought or memory had provoked such a question.

  ‘He told me that life was sacred,’ Mariah replied in a near whisper. ‘I know that not to be true. It is to be taken, snatched and snuffed out. As worthless as a candle stub with no one to care for its passing.’

  ‘Desperate words for one so young,’ Charity replied.

  ‘I can’t get the eyes of the assassin from my mind – yet I know if I hadn’t thrown the orb we both could be dead. He glared at me as if he willed me to kill him.’ Mariah shuddered slightly, still unsure if he had done the right thing.

  ‘Then you have found the answer to your question. You put your life – and my life – above his. We didn’t go looking for the fight and we gave him opportunity to surrender. The assassin sealed his own fate.’

  ‘If things could be so simple, then my heart would not be so heavy,’ Mariah replied as he fastened his tie and looked at
his reflection in the mirror. Yet something in what Charity said made him feel pleasantly reassured.

  ‘We see life as a dim reflection in a clouded mirror – but one day we shall see it without our misted minds.’ As he spoke Charity walked to the door and turned out the light before they left the cabin.

  They walked silently along the passageway. Charity nodded to the crowds of other passengers who were leaving their cabins and going to dinner. He looked at his fob watch. Mariah saw that it said six-fifty. At the end of the passageway they took the crowded steam elevator together to Deck 13. It reminded Mariah of the elevator at the Prince Regent. A peculiar woman in a fur overcoat pressed close to him. She smelt of cucumber and beer. Her lipstick was smudged across her mouth so that she looked like a drunken clown. The man she was with was older. He was particularly thin, with a neat bow tie and silver hair that shone like steel. His moustache arched over his lips like a frozen waterfall of icicles below his craggy, lined face. It was obvious to Mariah that they had been arguing. Their eyes never met and the woman looked as though she had been crying.

  ‘An interesting journey,’ Mariah said to her with a smile in the hope that she would turn from her remorse.

  ‘Is it?’ she said in a chirp. ‘This is my honeymoon – but you wouldn’t think so.’ She spoke quietly, just loud enough for the man to hear her.

  The steam elevator stopped on Deck 11 and the couple got out with the rest of the passengers to go to the large dining room at the stern of the ship. Mariah slipped the invitation into the slot beneath the buttons. Charity and Mariah waited as the doors closed automatically and the elevator rattled up two further decks.

  ‘Deck 13?’ Mariah asked before the elevator doors opened. ‘Does the Marquis DeFeaux have his own dining room?’

  ‘I think you will find he has his own deck at the very top of the ship,’ Charity replied as the elevator stopped and the door slid open.

  Mariah gulped twice. Stretching out before him was a marble floor that eventually met with walls covered in thick fur. A gold chandelier bedecked with electric lamps hung from the ceiling, whilst ancient gods fought with strange sea creatures within gold picture frames.