Mariah Mundi and the Ship of Fools

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘Captain Charity?’ asked a gargantuan man with a shaved head, three gold teeth and a face scarred by a thousand cuts.

  ‘And Mariah Mundi,’ Charity replied, as if it was an everyday occasion to be greeted by a human monster.

  ‘The Marquis has asked me to meet you. If you would both like to take a seat,’ the man said in a voice so deep that it was like the rumbling of a whale.

  ‘He’s a giant,’ Mariah said as the man walked away into another room and closed two panelled doors behind him.

  ‘Casper Vikash,’ Charity replied.

  ‘Did you see his face – all those scars?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘He saved DeFeaux in the Amazon. Rumour has it that he jumped in a river and rescued his master from a shoal of piranha.’

  ‘And they did that to him?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘The Bureau of Antiquities was informed that Vikash was close to death for many weeks. DeFeaux had his surgeons rebuild the man’s face the best they could, but they left the scars. You will never see DeFeaux without him. Vikash was a Legionnaire – that is all that is known of him. Be careful, Mariah,’ he added as they waited patiently. ‘We are dealing with dangerous men.’

  ‘Does the Bureau make a business of knowing everything about everyone?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘There are certain people who we are interested in. DeFeaux is one of them,’ Charity replied quietly.

  The doors opened and Vikash stooped through and smiled warmly. ‘The Marquis is ready to see you. I hope you both enjoy dinner.’

  As the entrance hall was grand, the dining room was quite sumptuous. It was clad with oak panels as in a fine castle. A large window looked out across the stern of the ship. There were doors to a balcony deck. Everywhere Mariah looked was brightly polished wood and brass. Before them was a long table on which were five square plates of plain porcelain. Each had a set of silver cutlery. In the middle of the table was a simple candlestick with three candles. Each plate had a name etched on triangular card. Mariah could see his own name in black ink.

  ‘Please be seated,’ Vikash whispered eerily. ‘They will be with you soon.’

  Charity and Mariah sat and waited. The room was silent. Mariah could hear neither the sea nor the generator. It was as if he was again on dry land, on a high mountain or at the top of the Prince Regent Hotel – yet far from feeling safe, the eerie silence gave him deep foreboding.

  [5]

  Biba DeFeaux

  WHEN the Marquis DeFeaux walked quickly through the open doors and into the vast dining room, Mariah gave him little attention. Charity stood to his feet and held out his hand in welcome, but Mariah just stared. It was not the Marquis who stole his interest, but the girl who walked in his shadow.

  Mariah had never seen anyone quite like this before. She was tall, thin, with skin that shimmered. Her face was white and her neck was wrapped in a long purple scarf of fine silk that fell to the floor. She wore a green velvet dress and riding boots, and a green suede jacket that was held back on the arms by heavily bangled wrists. Mariah could not help staring at the whirl of deep red ringlets that tumbled to her shoulders. He was aware too of the woman who walked behind her, smiling and nodding as if she welcomed an old friend.

  ‘And this is Mariah Mundi,’ Mariah heard Charity say as if he were being woken from a dream.

  Mariah stood up and gulped, ‘Hello.’

  ‘I have heard so much of you from the Bureau,’ the Marquis replied as he gestured for all to be seated. ‘Captain, I believe you know my wife, Mergyn?’ he asked.

  Mariah saw Charity smile at the woman across the table.

  ‘And this is my daughter, Biba DeFeaux,’ the Marquis said proudly as he leant across and stroked her face. ‘She is somewhat shy …’

  ‘It is good to be with you,’ Charity replied. He looked about the table as an army of waiters invaded the room with silver dishes and decanters of wine.

  ‘I took the liberty of ordering for you,’ the Marquis said as they all sat down. ‘When you own the ship it is possible to have just what you want. I have even prepared a fish supper, just like they give you at the Golden Kipper.’

  Mariah wondered how the Marquis knew about Charity’s small café by the harbour of the-town-at-the-end-of-the-line. It made him think of all that he had left behind. He realised that he had given no consideration to travelling so far from the place he now called home, and a terrible thought assaulted his mind. It lasted only a second, but it was powerful enough to make him feel quite sick.

  ‘You have been doing your homework, Lyon,’ Charity joked. ‘I am sure your chef will surpass anything we could prepare at the Golden Kipper.’

  ‘On the contrary, Captain. I hear you serve some of the finest food in England,’ said Mergyn DeFeaux as she sucked the juice from an empty oyster shell.

  ‘Do you still keep a crocodile in the cellar?’ asked the Marquis, as Biba giggled.

  It had been the first sound she had made. She had not greeted anyone in the room nor said anything as they began eating. Biba DeFeaux had stared at the table as if she were the only person in the room. Mariah thought her to be a doll, a marionette with a clockwork smile. He could not fight the desire to speak to her.

  ‘Do you always travel with your father, Biba?’ he asked.

  The table fell silent as if he had broken a great taboo. Mergyn looked at her husband as Biba pulled her napkin to her mouth and stared at Mariah through astonished blue eyes.

  ‘My daughter had an accident, Mariah,’ the Marquis said. ‘She doesn’t enter much in the way of conversation.’ As he spoke his wife picked at her food like a sparrow with her long fingers.

  Mariah was about to apologise when Charity spoke. ‘I have both the best chef and the biggest crocodile in England. In fact, Lyon, it is a crocogon. An amalgamation of crocodile and a Java dragon. I found it on the beach not a few hundred yards from where I live.’

  Biba giggled again as she took out a lacquered box from her pocket, opened the lid and watched the figure dance. It was as if balance had been restored. The rest of the meal was served and they all ate well. Mariah listened to long conversations about the Triton and how DeFeaux knew the ship would win the great race. A clock chimed the hours as plates were served, emptied and taken away. Throughout, Mariah tried to look interested and steal an occasional glance at Biba DeFeaux. He wondered what accident had taken away her speech and why she wouldn’t look at him. There was something about her that was different beyond her silence. He could tell that she listened to all that was said. Not just to the words, but to the feelings of the heart.

  ‘I fear I must speak to you alone,’ the Marquis said to Charity sometime after the last crumbs of chocolate cake had been eaten. ‘I would like to show you the balcony. The Bicameralist has returned and as yet I have not seen it at night. Mergyn will keep the lad company,’ he went on as he pulled the lapels of his coat closer together and shrugged his narrow shoulders.

  Charity and DeFeaux left the room. Casper Vikash followed them. He carried a bearskin coat over his arm. Mariah saw him lock the balcony door from the outside as Charity and DeFeaux leant against the iron railings and looked out to sea.

  ‘Have you known Captain Charity for long?’ Mariah asked Madame DeFeaux as the servants cleared the table.

  ‘Before I knew my husband,’ she replied. ‘I met him in London – he would have been just a little older than you. He had just left the Colonial School – we were great friends. And you, Mariah, what is your acquaintance with him?’ she asked.

  ‘I work for him at the Prince Regent Hotel. He is the owner and I a magician’s apprentice,’ he replied.

  ‘And what of the ship – is it to your liking?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t seen much. Captain Charity insisted on walking the deck for most of the morning and sleeping for most of the afternoon.’

  ‘Then Biba will take you for a guided tour. I will arrange everything. Be outside the lift on Deck 13 at ten in the morning,’ she said.

>   ‘But … she doesn’t …?’ Mariah tried to ask in a whisper.

  ‘Speak?’ said Madame DeFeaux before going on. ‘Biba was attacked by a polar bear – it was three years ago in Greenland. Vikash shot it just before it was about to seize upon her. My husband had it made into a coat for Biba to wear. Once she is sure of you, she will speak. Isn’t that right, Biba?’

  Biba didn’t reply. She stared at the lacquered box and watched the dancer twirl and twirl.

  ‘Is that from Sir Lorenzo Zane?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘Indeed, it was given to Biba by his son. They are very special friends. Biba takes it everywhere. She thinks it reminds her of him.’ Madame DeFeaux watched her daughter as she spoke.

  Mariah thought that Madame DeFeaux was the image of her daughter, even down to the clothes that they wore. For a moment, he wished the assassin’s bullet had not missed Lorenzo Zane.

  ‘He is on the ship – we met on the train,’ Mariah said as suddenly Biba looked up.

  ‘We did not know – we thought he was still in Greenland,’ Madame DeFeaux replied.

  ‘I met him on the train, he was travelling with his mother.’ Mariah thought it not wise to mention the assassin.

  ‘Then perhaps you could explore the ship together. Captain Tharakan has promised fine weather – not that it matters on a ship of this size, where there is so much to do,’ Madame DeFeaux said.

  ‘If Lorenzo joins us then that will be a fine thing,’ Biba said unexpectedly in a fine English accent. ‘Tomorrow at ten by the entrance to the lift.’

  ‘I will see that Casper allows you an entrance. Deck 13 can only be reached in the steam elevator by invitation,’ said Madame DeFeaux as the door to the balcony opened and Charity stepped inside.

  ‘Then that shall be that and the gold shall be safe,’ the Marquis said as he closed the door behind them.

  ‘You speak as if you have won it already,’ said Charity eagerly.

  ‘I don’t think the Ketos will be able to keep the pace she does. By tomorrow we shall be ahead of her. I want to sail as close as we can so as we pass by I can look the captain in the eyes and wish him well.’ He laughed. ‘A million dollars just for winning a race – what kind of world do we live in, Captain Jack?’

  In the steam elevator on their way to their suite, Charity did not speak. He appeared troubled. Mariah knew that Charity was thinking about what had been said on the balcony. When the time was right Mariah would be told all he needed to know. He often felt that Bureau business was like a gigantic jigsaw. Each piece was scattered here and there and yet when it came together all would be revealed. Charity had told him that it is often dangerous to know everything – in case you should fall into the hands of the enemy. ‘Know little, but know what you need,’ is what he would say on the days when Charity would talk about the Bureau. Mariah would listen intently, something within telling him his life would depend upon it.

  As they pressed the ticket into the whirring lock by the side of their door, Charity stopped. He looked pensive, as if he had forgotten something important.

  ‘There is something I must do,’ he said musingly. ‘I will be back as soon as I can. Keep the door locked and answer it to no one.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Mariah asked.

  ‘I have someone to see. All will be well,’ Charity replied as the door to the room opened. ‘Just keep the door locked.’

  ‘But I can come with you?’ Mariah protested.

  ‘I have to go alone. The one I go to see won’t speak to me if you are there. No witnesses,’ Charity replied.

  Mariah felt concerned. He didn’t want Charity to go, but could not speak his fears. He found himself saying, ‘Don’t worry for me – I have the pistols.’

  He went into the suite. It was cold and lifeless. Somehow it was different from when they had left it hours before. Mariah looked about the room. All appeared to be the same and yet there was a strangeness to the air. The travelling trunk was still in the middle of the room behind the long leather sofa. Next to it was the lamp and the table on which was the black telephone. He could see that nothing had been moved, but Mariah knew that the atmosphere had changed. He racked his mind – he had felt this way before. Then he remembered. It was the night at the Prince Regent when the killer had stalked him. It was the feeling of being watched, just like before.

  On that occasion Mariah had been by the fire in the hallway of the hotel. He had got up from his chair and stood by the fireplace. He looked at his face in the mirror and for the briefest moment he had been frozen to the spot. He couldn’t move, his arms and legs were petrified. There, in the reflection of the mirror, as if the figure stood behind him, was the face of a masked man. For a fleeting second Mariah saw the bloodshot eyes and drivelling mouth half-hidden behind the golden mask of tragedy.

  When he looked again, the face was gone. All he could see was the chair and a large aspidistra billowing from a brass pot. Mariah had turned; his eyes had searched the shadows for the faintest trace of the man. There was no one.

  Now the feeling was the same. It was as if something within warned him of a real and present danger. His body tingled and his spine shuddered; the hairs stood on the back of his neck and a voice inside his head told him to run. Mariah locked the door and made sure the bolt was slid across. He went to each wardrobe in turn and, slowly opening each door, checked inside. The room was empty. Everything was just as it should be. Still the deep unease was there like before. He knew that someone was watching him, that eyes stared from hidden places …

  Fearfully, Mariah opened the door of the sleeping cabin and looked under the bed. He then crossed the room and did the same in Charity’s room. All was as it should be. The suite was empty. The wind whistled outside and whispered coldly.

  For several minutes, Mariah sat in the leather armchair that was bolted to the floor. He stared about the room, looking for a miniscule aperture from where he could be watched. He took the pistol from his pocket, checked the chamber and pulled the trigger until it stuck against the safety catch.

  ‘It’s in your mind,’ he said out loud to break the silence of the room. ‘I’m alone, I know it …’

  The words felt empty. No matter how much he tried to convince himself, he still had the nagging doubt that someone, somewhere, could see everything he did. It was an unfounded fear, but a voice within, an ancient perception of when danger was near, told him to make ready to fight.

  There was the shrill ring of the telephone. Mariah picked up the receiver. Even before he could give a greeting he could hear the faraway sound of someone breathing.

  ‘Who is it?’ he asked. ‘Suite 395, hello.’ He hoped someone would answer.

  There was silence. No one spoke. All he could hear was the sighing breath. It rasped and coughed as if it were about to die.

  ‘Who are you?’ Mariah asked, his hand shaking. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  There was gentle laughter, as if whoever it was had remembered a fond and happy memory.

  ‘It’s me … I’ve come back,’ it whispered just as the line went dead.

  Mariah put the telephone back on the table and checked the lock on the door and again looked in the wardrobes and the beds. He was alone.

  Just as he returned to the leather chair, he noticed something quite strange. The mirror by his bedroom door appeared to be glowing. It was as if the glass were about to become aflame. It shimmered momentarily. He looked again, and the mirror was just mercurial glass in which he could see his reflection.

  From the door came a tap-tap-tapping as if a tiger-claw struck the wood time after time. Then, as Mariah turned, there was a scratching as if a dog was in the passageway. Mariah listened as the scraping came again and again. He went to the door and put his hand upon the wood. He could feel it move with the tremor of the generator. The scratching came again, this time louder. Mariah could feel it against the door – something was on the other side. He listened as the creature sniffed the sill. Then, as swiftly as it had come,
the sound had gone.

  Mariah sat with his back to the door. He wanted to leave, to be at home. He didn’t want to be on his own. Whatever haunted him seemed to know his mind and what he feared.

  ‘Mariah …’ He heard the whisper. ‘Mariah…’ said the voice of a child, calling him from the passageway outside. ‘Come with me …’

  He didn’t know what to do. The room grew colder, darker … The lights began to fade in their brightness. Mariah could hear his heart beating as the blood rushed through his head.

  ‘Who is this?’ he asked, hoping the voice would be gone and he would be tormented no more.

  ‘Topher …’ replied the voice from outside, this time so clear that Mariah recognised its tone.

  ‘But it can’t be,’ Mariah replied in total disbelief.

  ‘You remember me. The Colonial School … I fell from the boat, in the Thames …’

  Mariah could not forget that summer day five years before when his most perfect friend had fallen from a rowing boat by Chiswick Bridge. They had searched the water but he was never found.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Mariah asked, as if death could not stand in the way of their friendship.

  ‘Come with me, Mariah. Jump the ship … We can play again, it’s so easy to do,’ the voice pleaded with him.

  Mariah got to his feet, slid the brass guard from the circular spy hole and peered into the passageway. It was dark, as if the lights there had faded also.

  ‘It can’t be you, Topher. Not after all this time.’ The memories of his friend blew about his mind like a breeze through an open window.

  ‘You can’t see me, Mariah … Not there …’ The voice of the child now spoke from inside the room.

  Mariah gripped the door, his face pressed against the wood, too fearful to turn. He knew that Topher was there, right behind him, standing in a pool of golden light cast by the mirror.