by G. P. Taylor
‘A jail,’ Mariah whispered to himself as he dared to peer in through the hatch.
On a bench on the far wall of a room without light a man was lying. He sprawled across the makeshift bed as if he were dead. His arms were outstretched, his mouth open. Rolling back and forth across the wet floor was an empty bottle. It turned this way and then that, never finding rest. The man opened one eye and stared at him. Mariah ducked out of sight, hoping that he had not been seen. He clung to the door and looked back towards the steps, thinking he should run.
‘Gonna let me out, boy?’ the man asked. ‘Been in here long enough … Sober now. I’ve done no wrong. Said it was for my own good and now my own good is good enough,’ the man rambled.
Mariah was silent as he thought of what to do. He had been seen. He was trapped. The prisoner could shout and in the hue and cry Mariah would be found.
‘I said, you gonna let me out?’ the man asked again. ‘Don’t care what you doing on the ship. Got a face I never seen before. You a stowaway?’ he asked. ‘That’s what I was – that’s why I’m in here.’ He laughed in a deep and gruff voice tinged with spit.
Mariah thought for a moment and then stood up. He looked through the hatch. The man could not be seen. It was as if he had been a ghost – the voice of an ancient mariner long dead. He could smell the foul stench of half-digested onions mixed with rum. It hung in the air like vapours of mist. Mariah stared harder into the gloom, hoping to see some sign of the man, but there was nothing – he was gone.
Without warning, a hand grabbed Mariah by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, choking him as the thick fingers gripped hard.
‘Don’t you speak, stowaway?’ the man asked as he appeared from his hiding place.
‘Let me go!’ Mariah said.
‘Not until you let me out. Don’t like it in here and I’m not sailing all the way to America in the brig. Undo the bolt and I’ll say nothing and you can go and hide with the rats,’ said the man sternly as he tightened his grip.
‘Why are you in here?’ Mariah asked.
‘What’s it to you – why you on the ship?’ the man asked.
‘Stowaway, just like you said,’ Mariah replied, thinking fast as he held the man’s hand to stop him tightening his grip.
‘Well, you gonna let me out or am I to choke you where you stand?’ the man asked as he shook Mariah with an arm so thick that it filled the hatch opening.
‘I can’t reach the lock – you’ll have to let me go,’ Mariah replied as his face was scraped against the side of the door.
‘Then we got a problem. If I let you go you could run away and leave me in here,’ the man said.
‘You could turn me in and then I’d be locked up with you,’ Mariah replied, as the man’s grip got even tighter.
‘Then we have to find some trust,’ the man said through the vapours of rum that billowed from his guts.
Mariah thought for a moment. He was being held by his throat and couldn’t escape. The man grasped him with such strength that he could snuff him out there and then.
‘If I open the door are you going to turn me in?’ he asked.
‘Depends on what you have to say for yourself,’ the man replied, not releasing his grip.
‘Then I promise not to run and I will undo the bolts,’ Mariah replied as the breath was being squeezed from him.
‘Give me your left hand,’ said the man. He loosened his grip on Mariah’s throat.
Mariah didn’t question him. He knew this would be the only way he could escape being choked by the man’s arboreal fingers. He slipped his hand through the hatch. The man grabbed him by the wrist as he let go of his throat. His grip on Mariah’s hand was just as tight, just as harsh.
‘I can’t run,’ Mariah said painfully. ‘I’ll open the door.’
He slid the bolts with his free hand. They were easy to move and slipped quickly from their keepers. The door swung open and the man stepped outside. He kept his grip on Mariah as he looked down at him and smiled.
‘Bigger than I thought for a stowaway,’ the man said as he pushed the fingers of his free hand through the mass of thick, black curls that covered his head. ‘How did you get on the ship?’
Mariah didn’t know what to say. It would be easy to lie, but it would be easy to be found out. He was caught, either by a friend or foe, and he didn’t know which the man was.
‘Does it matter?’ Mariah asked.
The man laughed. ‘It would be interesting to know – I have never met a fellow stowaway. That’s how I started my life at sea – a lad just like you jumping on a ship to see the world.’
‘And what are you now?’ Mariah asked, as he looked the giant of a man up and down.
‘They call me Cartaphilus – I wander the seas of the world in whatever way I can,’ he replied as he let go of Mariah’s wrist. ‘You have honest eyes, too honest to be at sea and I bet you haven’t eaten.’ Mariah nodded as Cartaphilus smiled again. ‘I can smell cabbage. The crew are on watch, either that or drunk in their beds – we can eat and won’t get disturbed.’
‘What if we get caught?’ Mariah asked as the man took him by the shoulder and marched him to the galley, opening the door and pushing him inside.
‘Then we’ll sleep in the brig until we get to Virginia,’ he replied as he took some bread and cheese from a cabinet and gave it to Mariah. ‘You alone?’
The question had come suddenly and Mariah answered with his eyes. He looked from Cartaphilus to the door.
‘A girl?’ asked the giant. Mariah nodded. ‘Hiding in the hold?’
As he ate the bread and cheese Mariah told the man how they had got on board the ship. Something made him keep Biba’s identity a secret.
‘So they’ll think you’re lost to the sea?’ Cartaphilus asked. ‘In a lifeboat you say – from the Triton?’
Mariah nodded. ‘Why did they have you locked up?’ he asked.
‘Didn’t like what I was up to – took five of them to get me in there. Got me drunk first – that’s my weakness. We all have a weakness and I love Jamaica juice.’ He coughed as he savoured the memory.
‘So they’ll put you back inside?’ asked Mariah as he looked at the faded tattoos on the man’s arm.
‘Not again – and you’re gonna help me,’ the man said as he leant forward to Mariah and picked cheese from his plate. ‘We’re gonna take over this ship, you and me … I’ll make you first mate.’
‘So you’re not a stowaway?’ Mariah asked.
‘I’m the captain,’ Cartaphilus replied slowly as he stared Mariah in the eyes. ‘Or should I say – I was the captain until I agreed to pick up that lifeboat from the Triton. Once it got out that it was packed with gold then other people had ideas beyond their calling.’
‘Mutiny?’ Mariah asked.
‘I would call it cowardice – cheating and stealing what is mine,’ Cartaphilus said as he stood up from the table. ‘Come on, lad, we are going to take back my ship.’
Cartaphilus pushed Mariah into the passageway and then bade him to follow. It seemed he didn’t need to know Mariah’s name or much about him at all. Mariah felt a deep unease. Could he believe the man? Cartaphilus didn’t look like a captain of a ship. He had the bearing and guise of a soldier, with hands that looked as if they had worked the land for a thousand years.
They crept though the begrimed warren of tunnels until they came to the stairway that led up to the deck. Mariah could smell the sea.
‘This is what I want you to do,’ Cartaphilus said as he held Mariah by the shoulder. ‘Go up them stairs and along the deck. Behind the bridge you will see a cabin – that’s my place. Inside the desk you’ll find a gun. Bring it to me …’
Mariah did as he said. He had soon climbed the stairs and ran along the empty deck. The moon shone down and far to the west he could see the lights of the Triton. Behind the bridge he saw a ladder that led up to a narrow deck with a solitary door. A man with a beard at the wheel of the ship was staring straight
ahead, as if he tried to follow in the wake of the Triton.
Mariah climbed the ladder, walked the deck and slowly and carefully opened the door of the cabin. Just as Cartaphilus had said, Mariah saw the desk. He opened the drawer and found the gun. It was old, more a small rifle than a pistol, with a short magazine that jutted out from the side. Quickly, Mariah retraced his steps, keeping an eye on the bridge and the man staring out to sea.
‘Was there anyone about?’ Cartaphilus asked when Mariah returned.
‘Just a man on the bridge steering the ship – he didn’t see me.’ Mariah replied.
‘Did he have a beard?’ he asked. Mariah nodded. ‘That’s old Tornado Jones. Blind as a bat – he be sticking to a heading and seeing nothing at all. That means the rest will be drunk and asleep. Better choose the place to do battle,’ he said as he took the gun from Mariah and cocked the hammer. ‘You’ll have to fend for yourself, lad – it could get bad …’
Cartaphilus climbed the steps and onto the deck. The night was clear and crisp. For a thousand miles around them the sea was still, as if it were about to freeze. The wake from the ship fell back into the sea like shards of ice.
The captain walked towards the bridge, staggering as if he were still drunk. With every step he looked back and forth, expecting an ambush lay ahead. They edged their way around a stack of barrels filled with lamp oil and then slowly on.
‘We’ll wait until they change the night watch,’ he whispered as he climbed to the deck and got to the door of his cabin. ‘You coming or are you going to stand there all night?’
Mariah followed him into the cabin. It was all he could think of to do. He felt as if he were trapped in a game – like a mouse chased by a cat, captured but not killed. The cabin was small. There was a desk by one wall and an old stove by the other. Three leather chairs were nailed to the floor by their claw feet. Maps and charts were pinned to the walls. Cartaphilus lit the whale-oil lamp and put a pot of coffee on to the stove.
‘When will the watch be changed?’ Mariah asked as he searched nervously for something to say.
Cartaphilus looked up at the clock on the wall of the cabin. Its white face glowed in the golden light. The black hands were unmoving, as if time had stood still.
‘Two of the clock now … and the watch will be changed in an hour. Time for some coffee,’ he replied. He sat in a rickety old chair by the stove and warmed his feet. ‘So,’ he said with a long, deep sigh. ‘What’s your name? Where’s your friend? And what are you doing on my ship…’
Mariah touched the pistol in his pocket and was tempted to pull the gun and shoot the man there and then. He could feel his breathing deepen as the blood pulsed through his body. His mouthed dried as he stared blankly at the clock. The room was cold and airless and stank of whale oil.
‘Mariah,’ he found himself saying. ‘Mariah Mundi. My friend is Biba DeFeaux – she is in the hold with the lifeboat – we hid and never knew it would be set adrift.’
‘Did you see the gold?’ Cartaphilus asked.
‘A man came and took an ingot. I saw him from our hiding place.’
‘That would be Mr Pusey – you may know him, an Englishman from Oxford,’ Cartaphilus said as he watched the coffee pot steam.
‘No.’ Mariah stumbled on his words. ‘I live in the north – but once lived in London.’
‘Do you like thieves?’ the man asked as he put the gun by the stove and lifted the coffee pot to fill a mug on his desk. Then he spoke again before Mariah could answer. ‘I have just stolen a million pounds from the Triton. Mr Pusey then stole it from me. He didn’t have the guts to kill me, so he got me drunk and locked me away. Without you, Mariah, I would still be in that brig. How can I repay you?’
‘You could put us off at the next port?’ Mariah asked.
‘Is that all you want? Don’t you want a share of the gold?’ Cartaphilus asked.
Mariah shook his head as he watched the seconds pass uncomfortably. ‘Virginia would be a fine place to be left.’
‘No parents to care for you?’ the man asked.
Mariah shook his head again. ‘Dead,’ he said softly, as if the fact had finally been accepted.
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Cartaphilus said. His eyes followed the flickering shadows cast by the oil lamp. ‘To rest in such a way would be a sufficient thing.’
‘It comes to us all,’ Mariah replied.
‘For some … but not for everyone.’ He coughed as he spoke.
Mariah was about to speak when there was a sound outside the cabin. It was as if ropes were being hauled from over the side of the ship. A door slammed shut. A man shouted.
‘Now’s the time,’ Cartaphilus whispered. He cast an eye to the clock. ‘Pusey is on night watch.’
Cartaphilus got to his feet, gun in hand, then pushed Mariah to one side. He opened the door a fraction of an inch and peered out. The cold sea air was sucked into the room, flapping the charts that were pinned to the smoke-tainted walls.
Mariah watched as Cartaphilus opened the door even further. It was as if he knew what would happen next. He could see the shadow of a man on the deck below, outlined by the moon. Two others stood nearby. It looked as if they were about to hoist a boat over the side of the ship.
‘Thinking of leaving, Mr Pusey?’ Cartaphilus asked.
‘Captain Cartaphilus! I thought we had locked you away?’ the man asked mockingly.
‘Alive and well – no thanks to you,’ he replied as Mariah kept out of sight.
‘Then we shall have to set you adrift and hope you will be saved by Eskimos,’ he said.
Cartaphilus said nothing. He slipped the gun from behind the door. Mariah heard the click of the trigger and the explosion of the bullet.
‘Not us!’ shouted another man. ‘Pusey made us follow him.’
The gun fired again.
‘And you,’ Cartaphilus said, ‘will you follow the same way?’
‘Not me, Captain – you know that,’ the last man said.
‘Then throw them both into the sea. I have Mariah Mundi and Biba DeFeaux as guests on this ship. Snuck away in that lifeboat you picked up. She’ll be worth more than the gold.’
Cartaphilus turned to Mariah and smiled.
‘I thought you would be a man of your word,’ Mariah said to the Captain.
‘That I am, lad. I have lived so long that my word is worth nothing.’
[16]
Rhinoceros Trousers
‘RHINOCEROS trousers?’ Charity asked as he and Vikash, continuing their search for Mariah and Biba on the Triton, entered the long dark room where the passengers’ luggage was stored in the depths of the ship. It was like a gigantic library. From wall to wall were avenues of cases stacked upon each other and strapped to the floor by long red cords to stop them moving as the ship rolled.
‘I know it is hard to believe, but I heard it myself,’ Vikash replied as he remembered the day when he had first met Henry Mitchell, the big game hunter.
‘But they can’t be bulletproof,’ Charity said in disbelief as he looked around at the piles of neatly stacked trunks and cases that filled the room from floor to ceiling.
‘His case should be here somewhere. I know that he is one of the greatest hunters in the world and that he always wears a pair of rhinoceros trousers. It is even said that he has a pair of pyjamas made from the same creature,’ Vikash went on, laughing to himself. ‘Of course, he is English,’ he said, as if this was an excuse for insanity.
‘Can’t understand why anyone should take part in such a slaughter,’ Charity replied as he searched the narrow corridors between the piles of leather cases.
‘I heard that he used a machine gun mounted on the back of a carriage,’ Vikash said.
‘Mariah! Biba!’ Charity shouted, his words echoing from the high vaulted ceiling. ‘I don’t think they are here, Vikash. I am convinced they were on the lifeboat.’
‘But why would Biba do such a thing?’ Vikash asked.
‘They
are both young, and foolish in a way,’ Charity replied as a fleeting shadow caught his attention. It flickered momentarily between two avenues of travel trunks and then disappeared. ‘Did you see that?’
Charity turned. It was obvious that Vikash had also seen the shadow. He signalled to Charity to keep down as he skirted around a tall stack of luggage, piled like coffins to the high roof.
‘It’s Shanjing,’ Charity whispered. ‘I know it is …’
Suddenly and without warning, the holding cords snapped. Suitcases began to fall. They rained down, crashing to the floor. Vikash was hit, just as Charity shouted out a warning. From above them, the walls of the avenue began to tumble as more and more travelling luggage fell on top of them like a landslide. There was no escape. The passageway was quickly blocked and the cases formed an impenetrable barrier. Vikash was silent, stunned and dazed, his brow cut open and bleeding.
‘Vikash,’ shouted Charity, ‘I can’t get to you.’
Charity heard laughter. It seemed to come from everywhere. It was cackling, harsh, old, the ranting of a madman.
‘Think you could find me?’ the voice asked as if it were right behind him. ‘You are such a fool.’
‘Shanjing! Shanjing!’ shouted Charity as the voice faded.
Laughter came once more. This time it was shrill and monkey-like. More cases fell, kicked down from above.
‘Such a fool, Captain Charity,’ the voice said before all was silent.
Jack Charity struggled beneath the avalanche of leather and wood. The cases were as heavy as rocks and pressed down upon him. He couldn’t see Vikash. Struggling under the weight of the baggage, Charity gasped for breath. He tugged at each case as he tried to pull it aside.
‘Charity,’ Vikash called from somewhere close by. ‘I am injured.’
‘I’m here, not but six feet away,’ Charity said as he pushed himself under the mountain of luggage and crawled towards the direction of the voice.
Charity found Vikash slumped against the wall. One of the cases had struck him on the head as it fell and Vikash had managed to crawl into a small cave of tumbled luggage. Miraculously he had not been crushed.
