by G. P. Taylor
Mariah watched the two men until he could see them no more. It was as if he stared at a vast puzzle that made no sense. He picked at each piece in his mind but could find no connection between them. He had found Sacha and knew he would have to help her escape – but he could not think of a way of freeing Charity from Dean Prison. Now he knew that Walpole was willing to kill, Mariah realised that unless Charity was set free by any means he would face the gallows.
Below, the hearse and the mourners’ cart were still in place on the corner of the house by the cellar steps. Mariah could see the shadow of a Peeler waiting beneath the window. Quietly, he slipped open the sash and looked outside. To the left was the low roof of the palm house. Mariah looked at the Peeler who leant against the wall with his arms folded.
In one silent stride, Mariah was on the roof of the palm house, keeping as low as he could. Within a minute he had shinned down the drainpipe and was in the overgrown garden. Soon he was deep amongst the giant hogweed. He knew these plants well. At the Colonial School there had been a game where new boys were beaten with their barbed stems. They would blister in the sunlight, leaving extraordinary scars for many weeks. Mariah quickly lost this thought as he crawled through the undergrowth until he could see the door to the house. He knew that if they were to take Sacha to the castle they would have to go that way and he would be ready.
From his hiding place he could see the Peeler by the steps. He wondered how Walpole should be involved in such a crime as kidnapping Sacha. Who would believe him? Who would believe the evidence of a lad like him against an inspector of police? Mariah knew he needed something that could not be doubted; his word alone was not good enough.
As Mariah waited underneath the enormous leaves of the hogweed, he realised that this had now become a matter of life and death and his own life would be changed for ever. Not only had Walpole arrested Captain Charity, but now he planned the death of his best friend and her father. Whatever was to happen, Mariah knew he could not fail in his task.
It was then that the large oval-topped door of the Towers opened slowly. A thin face peered out and looked back and forth. Then, without waiting, a regal procession of black-clad undertakers in elaborate top hats carried the coffin from the house and placed it in the hearse. Grimm and Grendel followed and slipped quietly into the mourners’ cart. The carriages turned around the large araucaria tree in the centre of the drive and slowly processed along the gravel towards the gate.
Mariah waited until the hearse had passed by and then followed, keeping pace with the mourners’ cart. He weaved in and out of the trees until he neared the gate.
The carriages clattered on the road as they gathered pace. Mariah ran on in the shadows, keeping to the high wall that edged the road. He breathed hard as the horses began to slow on the steep hill towards the castle. Far ahead he could see the light from the gatekeeper’s fire. It shone against the locked doors of the outer tower that guarded the bridge spanning the deep ravine of the castle dyke. Mariah knew that the carriages would be allowed inside and that he could go no further.
The mourners’ cart rattled from side to side on the blunt stone cobbles. Mariah ran as hard as he could and, taking hold of the back of the cart, jumped aboard and hid himself in the luggage rack.
‘What was that?’ he heard Grimm ask Grendel.
‘Was nothing,’ Grendel replied as the carriage jolted from side to side.
Mariah kept silent, hoping the carriage would not be searched, hoping more that he would not be found. He pulled the tar rug over him and curled as tightly as he could in the pit of the rack. Soon the horses began to slow down as they approached the gate.
‘Who comes at this time?’ shouted the gatekeeper through a small arrow-slit in the wall.
‘Grimm and Grendel, detectives,’ shouted Grimm in reply.
‘Watch out for the dogs – they run loose and will eat a man given the chance,’ the gatekeeper said.
Mariah heard the large door open slowly, creaking on its hinges. The carriage rolled on slowly, the wheels slipping on the smooth stones that that lined the road from the outer tower across the bridge and up the steep hill to the castle keep.
The deathly procession didn’t stop. The gate closed behind them with a clatter and a long iron bar was slid across the doors.
‘Mariah Mundi will trouble us no more in this castle,’ Grendel said as the carriage struggled up the hill.
‘I have no more concern for Mariah Mundi. I need to talk to you about something – something important,’ Grimm said tentatively to his companion. ‘I do not like the circumstances of this night.’
‘Speak plainly, Mr Grimm,’ Grendel said as Mariah listened.
‘This is not the place, nor is it the time. But we should speak soon – for I am afraid of what we shall be asked to do.’
‘What we have to do is look out for ourselves. That which does not destroy us makes us stronger – has that not always been our motto, Grimm?’
‘But I am afraid it is we who shall be destroyed. We are employed by a power that I care not at all for. Gone is the enjoyment, Mr Grendel, gone. We are detectives, we are select. But now we are henchmen for him – a man who wears a mask to hide his face.’
‘He pays us well,’ Grendel replied as the carriage came to a sudden halt.
‘But what shall we pay in return?’ Grimm asked as the door to the carriage opened and the cold night air gushed in like the chill of a death. ‘Is there no help for the widow’s son?’
‘It’s already too late for us, Mr Grimm. The tide has turned on our lives and the water is about our throats,’ Grendel said, sensing his companion’s hesitation. ‘We shall have to see this to the end no matter what, and when it is done we can be free of it.’
‘Having met him – I think we will never be free,’ Grimm said as he stepped from the carriage into the dark night.
‘Enough, enough,’ Grendel whispered so as not to be overheard. ‘We take the girl to the guard house and leave her there. We wait until her father does what is required and then let her go – what could be more simple?’
‘That would have been good enough, but now, my dear friend, things have changed. Walpole wants her dead – thrown from the cliff and into the sea – and her father is to be killed as well,’ Grimm replied as they walked behind the coffin. ‘He called the girl a “loose end”, and I fear we too may be loose ends that need to be tied up – and it is from what height that bothers me …’
[ 14 ]
The Cellist
MARIAH waited until the only sound he could hear was the wind whistling amongst the chimney pots and around the broken-down castle walls. Some time before, he had heard the footsteps of the men dressed as undertakers as they removed the coffin from the hearse, and he had heard too the church clock strike the third hour of the morning. Under the tar rug in the back of the mourners’ cart, Mariah huddled as tightly as he could to keep out the cold. It bit at his fingers and stopped him from thinking.
It had been his hope that the undertakers would return and the procession would leave the castle and he could escape. At any moment he thought the door to the guard house would open and the carriages would slip quietly away and into the night.
Mariah waited and waited. Then, just as he began to feel that they would never come, a door opened. He peered from under the canvas and saw four men cross the yard. They had changed from their top hats and dark coats and were now dressed in the suit of Peelers.
‘Police?’ Mariah said to himself, unable to keep the words in
his mouth. From his hiding place he could see that one had three sergeant stripes on his arm that glistened in the moonlight. None of them spoke as they got onto the hearse. With a sudden jerk the mourners’ carriage set off. He knew that he would have to wait until he was out of the gate and then he could leap for freedom and get help.
Even before he had finished the thought, the sudden, dark and terrifying realisation came to him that there was no one to help. Charity was in pr
ison, Sacha was captured – he was alone. The carriage trundled on down the hill. Mariah heard the driver call to the gatekeeper. The brake of the hearse squealed as it was held against the hill that led down into the town. Then, without warning the mourners’ cart stopped suddenly. The driver jumped to the ground and turned the carriage. He could then hear the horses being unstrapped and led away. They were still inside the castle.
Quietly, Mariah pulled back the canvas cover and peered out. It was dark; the carriage was beside the wall of the castle. He could hear the driver talking close by. The sky was full of thick silver clouds edged in moonlight. They blew quickly from the north, tumbling as they rolled across the sky. He knew he would have to escape. The driver could return at any time and find him hiding there. Then it would be too late both for him and for Sacha.
There was laughter from the shadows. Mariah heard a door open and shut suddenly. All was then quiet. He slipped quickly from his hiding place and, keeping to the wall like a sewer rat, made his way from the gate. The hill was steep and the pathway strewn with rocks. Built into the wall, some way off was a large brick building with a slate roof. It was bleak and windowless. A single chimney blew smoke out to sea. He knew this was the guard house and that inside was Sacha.
Indescribable desires within him made him want to steal her
back right there and then. All he wanted to do was take an army and beat down the door and fight for her. He knew how she would look and what she would say and could even hear her voice in his head. They would stand back to back and fight – just as they had done before, and she would bellow in her Irish accent that he loved so much. Then they would escape and run – she a yard faster than him, running like a wild horse that would never stop.
With these thoughts flooding his mind, he stalked the walls. In a few moments Mariah stood by the guard house where it was built into the castle wall. There was a small stone privy with a flat roof. The door was shut tightly, the paint flaked from the wood by the beating of the wind. High above, under the eaves, was a solitary window lit by a candle. Mariah could see that it was a ship’s brass candlestick made in such a way that it would always keep the candle upright, even in the most violent of storms. It sat, out of place, on the window ledge, and behind it – in shadow at first, but then clearly illuminated by the candle – was Sacha. She was looking out of the window. She lifted both hands to her face and cupped her cheeks, covering her eyes for a moment. Mariah knew she was crying. It stirred the anger in his heart, which beat in his chest loud enough to burst his ears.
It was then that from nearby, Mariah could hear the mournful sound of a cello. It played and then stopped and then played again. It was as if whoever commanded the instrument gulped for breath at the end of each line of music. Still it went on, giving the night a feeling of warmth and unreality. The music came from within the guard house and could clearly be heard in the cold night air.
Mariah climbed the privy wall, onto its roof and then onto the outer wall of the castle. Far below were the harbour and the lights of the town. In the distance, he could see the Prince
Regent. It looked dark and empty, silhouetted against the sky. From the sea came a haar mist, thick and black. It ran through the streets like the fingers of a witch casting a cauldron spell. It hugged the cobbles and covered the sea, leaving the Irenzee like a steel island in the bay.
He had soon climbed onto the long roof of the guard house, where he rested against a warm chimney pot. Then, crawling across the slate, he made his way quietly to a solitary skylight cut into the roof.
In the room below he could see the light of the candle and the flickering of a fire. Whatever was to happen, he knew he had to get inside and find Sacha. But before he could move again, the door to the room opened and Grimm stepped inside. He carried a tray and on the tray was a solitary cup. It steamed, the hot brown liquid bubbling in the pot mug. He placed the tray upon the table by the fire and without speaking left the room.
The church clock sounded the fourth hour of the night and was echoed by the foghorn of the lighthouse that warned of the coming of the haar mist. Mariah cast a glance to the town below. The dense fog had filled every street to the rooftops and had walked every alleyway like a myriad of ghosts haunting the dark places. It was thick and impenetrable like the flank of a dark, faceless, invading army.
Below him, Sacha had gone to the table and taken the cup in both hands. Mariah looked down and saw that she held it more for the comfort of its warmth than the brown liquid she did not want to drink. He watched her for a moment, wondering how he could gain her attention without her screaming. She was still dressed in the uniform of a magician’s assistant. Her long black trousers and black jacket were dirty and creased from her confinement in the coffin. Mariah could only see Sacha – but he didn’t know if she was alone. Grendel could be keeping guard inside the room, or somewhere very near.
Sacha stared into the mirror above the fire. Mariah could see her reflection. She looked angry and cold. She shrugged her shoulders and screwed up her face, then sipped the broth. Mariah gently tapped the glass with the tip of his golden finger. Sacha didn’t move. He could see her eyes look about the room as if she wasn’t sure what she had heard. He tapped again.
Slowly and carefully, Sacha put the mug of broth on the fireplace and turned from her reflection. She looked about the room and then, just as he tapped for a third time, she looked up. Mariah gestured for her not to speak. Sacha went to the door and listened and then, taking a chair, she lifted the catch on the skylight.
‘Where did you go to?’ he asked in an angry whisper.
‘I went nowhere – I was kidnapped,’ Sacha said quietly as the wind blew into the room.
‘Give me your hand – I’ll pull you out,’ Mariah said as he reached down for her.
Sacha stood on the chair and reached upwards, taking hold of his wrist. Mariah pulled and pulled but couldn’t lift her any further.
‘It’s no use,’ he said as Sacha dangled above the chair before he let her go and she fell to the floor with a loud thud.
The sound of the cello stopped momentarily. It was as if the player had heard the thud and listened to hear if the sound might come again. Mariah thought quickly and then slipped in through the window and dropped quietly to the floor. Without speaking, he stood on the chair and slipped the catch back on the skylight and then looked about the room. It was warm and plain, with a bed by the window, a fire and a blanket box. There was a small parlour chair by the fire and an old rug. Hanging from the ceiling were coils of rope and rusted lifting blocks.
‘I have to get you out of here,’ he said desperately.
‘They’ll let me go. They have me for a while and then –’ She
stopped as the words stuck in her throat as if she didn’t want to say what her father had to do.
‘I know. It’s your father,’ Mariah replied in a whisper.
‘If you get caught here it’ll make things worse. They’ll just keep me for three more days and then I’ll be gone.’
‘For good,’ he said without thinking. ‘I heard Grimm and Grendel – they won’t let you go.’
‘But they told me – my father, he …’ She flustered her words as she looked to the floor.
‘Will turn another blind eye?’ Mariah asked impatiently.
‘It’ll be no harm – it’s just money,’ she argued.
‘They’re going to kill you and your father. I heard them talking and Grimm has been told to throw you from the cliff and then have your father killed – even if he does help them. We have to get you away from here tonight. Things have changed – Captain Jack has been arrested for murder, the Prince Regent is empty and all the guests have gone apart from Mr Zogel.’
‘Doesn’t mean they’ll kill us,’ Sacha argued in a faint whisper.
‘If Walpole is involved in all this then it is serious business, Sacha.’
‘But not to die for?’ she asked.
‘Whatever they are planning to do invol
ves your father looking the other way. Whoever is behind this has the power to involve the police and to fit up the Captain for murder. So don’t think they won’t kill you.’
Sacha looked at the fire as the sudden import of Mariah’s words came to her.
‘We’ll not get out, Mariah,’ she said suddenly. ‘Grimm and Grendel are downstairs, and if we did get out of here then we wouldn’t get out of the castle.’
‘There’s always a way, Sacha – whatever.’
There was the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs outside
the room. They seemed to walk in time with the music from the cellist as he bowed the strings far away. Sacha looked at Mariah.
‘It’s Grimm. Hide!’ she said quickly.
Mariah hid in the blanket box by the bed. The door opened and Grimm stepped inside.
‘There’s been a slight change … of plan,’ he said, stuttering over each word. ‘Things are moving quickly and –’ He stopped speaking and sniffed the air like a water rat. ‘I can smell something …’
‘It’s the fire,’ Sacha said as she tried to yawn.
‘Not fire I can smell,’ he said as he sniffed about the room. ‘It’s the smell of the night – cold fog – grass and mischief. It’s the smell of a damp dog warming itself by the fire.’ Grimm looked wildly about the room. ‘You got someone here?’ he asked.
‘Who could I have here with the door locked and you and Grendel downstairs. My father won’t like this Mr Grimm – he knows I am here.’
‘He thinks you’re at the Towers and I don’t care what he thinks,’ Grimm said as he sniffed even more. ‘There’s someone in here – I can smell him.’
Grimm sniffed closer and closer to the large blanket box at the foot of the bed. His eyes searched for the tiniest clue that all was not right. He ran his stubby finger along the floor and then across the lid of the box.
‘Who you got hiding here?’ he asked Sacha as she took a pace towards the fire. ‘I can see from your face that you’re hiding something or someone.’