by G. P. Taylor
Mariah checked the monstrous plant and stared into the brass pot. He saw red lip-paint smudged upon the mirrored surface where, unbeknown to him, Monica had kissed her own reflection. The heavy scent of her perfume clung to the aspidistra and traces of white powder tipped the leaves. It was as if she were still there, those dark, burning eyes staring at him in the darkness. He thought to himself and for a brief moment closed his eyes, hoping to remember what she was like, trying to drag back a memory of her.
He was heaved from his dreaming by the sound of the elevator bell being rung far below. It clanged harshly, growing from a faint echo to a loud buzzing that vibrated through the shaft and into the passageway. Above the cage door a small glass panel suddenly slipped from the wall and waved back and forth; on it was painted the word Door. The cage rattled as it tried vainly to close itself and answer the call of the bell and the frantic finger that pressed in desperation.
Mariah realised that someone wanted to call the elevator to a floor far below. He looked at the alcove one last time, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness and see if there was anything hidden in the deep recess. Nowhere could he see the lion’s head that was shown in the silver book; all he could see was the plant sitting majestically on its stand and enclosed on three sides by the bright oak panelling. It was then, as the frenzied bell-pushing grew louder and more ill-tempered, that he saw a glint of silver in the shade of the pot. It glistened in the lamplight, hiding from the world under the brass vessel that sat on four clawed feet.
Mariah attempted to lift the pot, using both hands to raise it from the oak stand. But some hidden thing gripped it in place; it was as if the claws dug themselves furtively into the wood, holding fast to the secret beneath. He pressed the tip of his hand underneath, tantalisingly close, and touched the cold metal of what was hidden. With his little finger he slipped the object into view, scraping it slowly towards him and into the light.
Mariah saw before him the golden head of a grand key, engraved with the letters CCCLXVI. He looked both ways as he checked the oak doors and then the lift. He glanced up at the painting of the prince. Luger stared down at him, the eyes following his every movement. In an instant he grabbed the key and slid it into his right boot, checking to see if anything else had been placed beneath the dragon teeth of the plant. There was no reason to steal the key, he thought to himself as he turned to walk towards the theatre doors, yet he knew within himself that this was something he had to do – to show Sacha and then find the door which the key would fit.
Mariah fooled himself that Monica had left the key for him, knowing that he was in the darkness of the alcove, and that her kiss had been a present of welcome to a new friend. As he walked stealthily by the elevator he could hear Luger shouting at Monica far below, his words rising higher like his anger. Mariah unhooked the chain and the door sprang shut, almost trapping his hand as the metal gate snapped from wall to wall. The shaft rattled as the elevator was suddenly sucked into the depths in a gush of hot steam.
[ 7 ]
The Great Bizmillah
THE Prince Regent was like a fine ocean-going vessel. Every corridor was etched in gold leaf, every door was made of the finest oak and the whole building was pervaded by the gentle hum and rumble of the steam engine deep in the basement. On a full tide, when the waves lapped viciously around its foundations, the Prince Regent looked like a man-o’-war in full sail and set for sea, a brick dreadnought, billowing steam from its fine chimneys by the high towers.
Deep within its cavernous belly, and far above the line of the highest tide, was the theatre. Mariah pushed open the doors and stepped inside. It was pitch black, but for a simmering limelight shining upon the painted stage-boards that raked away into the darkness. There was not a sound, nor a person in sight. In front of the high proscenium arch were row upon row of bright red velvet seats, edged in cold iron cladding and burnished with gold. Before the stage was a deep pit that, in the shadows, he could see was filled with an array of musical instruments of every kind.
He took the liberty to sit upon the end seat on the row furthest away from the stage. As his sight grew used to the darkness, Mariah felt into his boot and plucked the key from where it snuggled next to his ankle. In the half-light he looked at the key, holding it close in case someone were to find him and he might have to hide it quickly if. He ran his fingers along the warmed edge and felt raised lettering with his fingertips. ‘What have I done?’ he said, louder than a whisper. A sudden flush of guilt swept across his face. The key trembled in his hand. He thought of running back and placing the key beneath the plant stand and leaving it for whoever had placed it there. He knew he would risk being caught and he knew that whoever had hidden the key would soon discover it had vanished.
It was then that he had a sudden thought that wouldn’t leave him. He looked at the sleeve of his coat and felt the wide black cuff, twice sewn and once turned. It was as if Felix spoke to him, telling him what to do – as if in some way he now repeated an action that had gone on before and had never been completed. ‘Felix …’ he said out loud as the thought came to him. ‘It was Felix – but why?’ Without thinking he took the key and slid it into the thin gap between the cuff and the sleeve, pushing it deep into the fabric.
All thought of returning the key quickly went from his mind. In his heart he knew that it would bring him misfortune, and yet its possession suddenly became utterly important and deeply exciting.
He smiled to himself and patted his jacket, knowing the key was in a safe place. Mariah somehow knew that the coat had been used before for this very purpose and that the key had rested there until its discovery by another. With every breath he took, Mariah began to have the strangest feelings. He sat gazing at the phosphorescent light shining upon the stage, casting long fingers of thin black upon the high walls. Lazily he looked up to the highest point of the theatre, where a thousand tiny sparkles dimly lit the roof like a night sky.
‘He was supposed to be here an hour ago.’ A voice echoed around the theatre and the sound of heavy rumbling thundered across the stage. ‘How can I teach someone if they are not here?’ Bizmillah asked as he pushed a long trunk from the darkness of the wings and into the limelight.
‘Delayed,’ said Sacha as she followed on, carrying a large saw and two square silver knives the size of double-dinner plates. ‘Mister Luger could have sent him somewhere, he could be along presently,’ she chirped hopefully as she scampered behind him.
‘But I am to cut him in half,’ Bizmillah moaned as he set up the box in the centre of the stage. ‘How can I do that if he isn’t here?’ He looked about him as if he had forgotten something. ‘Doubtless she will take over and this will become her trick. Would be a fine thing if she made a mistake and we ended up with two halves of the same boy.’ He grinned menacingly as he combed his thick bushy eyebrows with his spindly fingers. ‘Blood on her hands … and she would be away from this place for good. Can’t escape the gallows when you have three hundred and sixty-five witnesses to murder in a full house,’ he said to himself in a whisper, his words seeping like frost through the cold air.
‘Sorry, Mister Bizmillah,’ Mariah shouted as he leapt from the velvet seat and ran down the steps towards the stage. ‘Mister Luger had much to say and insisted on sleeping whilst I waited …’
‘Typical, typical,’ Bizmillah moaned as the boy ran towards him. ‘I don’t want you to become a last-minute boy. Young Felix had that as a very bad habit and look what happened to him,’ Bizmillah said boldly.
‘What did happen to him?’ Sacha asked as she set the saw and the knives on the boards of the stage.
Bizmillah coughed nervously, suddenly losing his willingness to speak. ‘Ran away,’ he muttered. ‘They all run away, never can stay the distance, never last more than a few weeks. I think she eats them …’ He glared at Mariah. ‘Now you are here, I can show you what you have to do. It is quite simple. I provide the magic and you provide your lovely bones – for me to cut in half.’
‘Now the lock,’ Bizmillah said as he turned the key and then made it vanish into thin air. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, as if he were before a full house. ‘I, the Great Bizmillah, bring you something so magical that you have never seen the likes of it before. Tonight I will cut in half this young girl and restore her to full health. I demand one thing – SILENCE.’
Mariah stepped back, unsure what was to come. He looked at Sacha, trying to catch her attention, as a smile played peacefully upon her face.
Bizmillah took the two knives and, one by one, thrust them into the top of the box as if to cut Sacha in two. She screamed and writhed, her face contorted, her feet kicking and shuddering and then suddenly stilling. Her head flopped to one side, eyes closed as if she were dead.
‘See!’ Bizmillah shouted. ‘DEATH! And now to prove to you that she is truly cut in two I will saw through the box for all to see.’
He grabbed the saw and began frantically to cut the box in half. Mariah couldn’t contain himself any longer. He ran to Sacha, who, hearing his footsteps across the stage opened one eye and winked at him. ‘It’s a trick, Mariah – I’m not dead …’
‘Help me, boy,’ Bizmillah called to him as he finished sawing the box in two. ‘I need you to turn the box and all shall see that the Great Bizmillah has worked his wonderful magic yet again.’
Together they turned the two halves of the box so that all could see that Sacha had been cut in half. From one end her head flopped from the hole. From the other her feet stuck out, her shiny black shoes and white stockings for all to see.
‘Now,’ he shouted, ‘I will bring her back to life!’ With that he blew upon his hand. Sparkles of silver dust shot from his fingertips and purple and blue flames danced like fireflies across his palm, then exploded in a bright white light, engulfing the box in a shimmering cold flame.
Sacha moaned and wailed as if in great agony. She tilted back her head and looked to Mariah, then she looked to her side and saw the box with the feet next to her head.
‘Are you alive?’ Bizmillah asked. It was obvious to the entire world that Sacha was very much alive and in great pain. He didn’t wait for her reply as she continued to moan. ‘Then waggle your feet.’
Mariah gawped as her feet moved from side to side then up and down.
‘See – even though she has been cut in half, by the power of the Great Bizmillah she has power over her feet.’ Bizmillah took the box and spun it on its little castors; Sacha’s feet were still moving, separated from her body. ‘A wonder of magic, the human frame cut apart and yet through the tendrils of the imagination she has control over her body.’
Mariah stood back amazed at what he saw, unsure if this was magic or some kind of dark sorcery that held her apart. Bizmillah noticed the look of surprise upon his face and gave a gentle laugh as he pulled on the strands of his long moustache.
‘NOW,’ he said in the loudest voice he could gather, ‘the magic of the ages will take the girl and by spiritual forces knit every piece of flesh together again.’ He nodded to Mariah to turn the other box towards him, then he moved the two halves together and pressed them firmly shut. Bizmillah began to pull on a long red cloth that slipped from his sleeve and covered the two boxes with what soon became an ever-growing mound of red fabric. He fumbled beneath the cloth, his hands slipping the two flat knives from their place and throwing them to the floor. ‘It is time,’ he said, and he threw two white doves high into the air as they magically appeared from inside his jacket. ‘The girl will be joined together.’ One of the birds flew high into the air, circling around his head, whilst the other fell to the stage, twitching and unable to open its wings.
Bizmillah magicked the key into his hand, then he plunged it into the lock, released the catch and set Sacha free. She leapt to her feet, jumping to the ground and giving a majestic bow. Mariah began to applaud, enthralled by what he had seen and taken in by the power of the moment, unsure if he had been part of some miracle or magical spectacle.
‘Your first lesson in magic,’ Bizmillah boasted as he stepped forward and took Sacha by the hand to join her in the encore bow that she gave to the empty theatre. ‘Tonight it will be your turn – do you think you can do as well as Sacha?’
‘But what if my guts won’t join together again or I cannot tell my feet what to do when they are set so close to my head?’
Sacha laughed. ‘It’s a trick – false feet that move mechanically. Look …’
She took his hand and lifted up the lid of the box. There before him a complex mass of wires and springs filled the bottom of the trunk. By their side was a pair of imitation feet, dressed in an identical pair of shoes and socks to those she was wearing. Next to them was a large cogwheel and coiled spring.
‘Clockwork,’ she said as she wound the key and pushed the feet through the two holes. ‘See this – this is the catch that the Great Bizmillah presses when he brings you back to life. Watch the feet dance.’ Sacha pressed the switch and the spring whirred into life, pushing the feet up and down, jangling the shoes on the end of the narrow wooden ankles. ‘Who would know the difference?’ she said as she reached into the box and pulled out a black pair of boots. ‘Look, we have these to match your boots. All you have to do is get in the box and as you do, push the feet through the hole.’
‘That’s not what bothers me,’ Mariah said as Bizmillah busied himself, picking up the stunned dove from the floor and trying to shake life back into it. ‘What happens about being cut in half?’
Sacha smiled. ‘As soon as he puts the lid on the box lift up your feet and curl them against your chest. When the knives go down you are already out of the way. When he slices through with the saw, there’s nothing there to cut in half. At the end of the trick you come back to life … Don’t forget to pull back the feet. Felix once left them sticking out of the box and everyone started to laugh.’
‘Apart from me,’ Bizmillah growled as he attempted to revive the dove by pressing upon its chest and breathing in its beak. ‘I don’t like to be made a fool of. I am the star and you the puppet – never forget that and we will be the best of friends.’
‘I’ll never,’ Mariah replied. ‘What else do I do?’
‘Sweep, clean, polish and feed,’ Bizmillah said as he put the dead dove back into his top pocket like a folded handkersniff. ‘You are in charge of the doves –’
‘And the snakes,’ Sacha interrupted quickly.
‘And the snakes,’ echoed Bizmillah. ‘You also clean everything I use. Clean but don’t touch, especially the frontier pistol. It was given to me by Mister Luger and only I can fire it.’
‘Very well,’ Mariah said as he looked to Sacha, hoping she would take him away. ‘What now?’
‘Desperate to go from my company?’ Bizmillah asked as he combed his eyebrows with his fingernails. ‘Sacha can take you to the cellars and show you what to do. There is a place for everything and for everything a place. Set the traps and the drops and make ready for the performance. Tonight is your big night. There is nothing like the roar of the crowd to fill the heart with passion. It is more potent than any sorcery I know.’
Together they pushed the sawing box into the store at the side of the stage. Sacha motioned for Mariah not to say a word, placing her finger against her lips as she kept an eye on Bizmillah who paced the stage, gesturing to himself as if he addressed a large crowd. She dragged Mariah by the sleeve and down a long flig
ht of stairs lit by faint gas lamps on every landing.
Mariah could smell the sea as they descended ever deeper. It was a strange red-brick staircase that went one way then another without a fulcrum or any visible means of it being supported. Fingers of brine hung down from the ceiling like icicles that shuddered with the rumbling of the steam engine. He wanted to speak, but every time he opened his mouth or made even the slightest sound, Sacha gestured for him to be silent. It was only when they had gone down several levels and the walls began to drip with long drops of foul salt water that she stopped and turned to him.
‘We are beneath the sea,’ Sacha said. There was damp green algae around her feet, cladding the step like a slippery glove. She turned to face a dark, stained door with rat-gnawed edges. ‘This is where we keep all his tricks. Sometimes the tide seeps its way down there and you can hear the water flooding the passageway,’ she said, pointing to a dark passageway that led off into the blackness.
‘You can go down further?’ Mariah asked, not believing that there would be anything below where they now stood.
‘Three more floors,’ she said proudly, as if it were a great achievement of hers to have such a fine building. ‘Mister Luger has his laboratory down there, although I’ve only been once and then wasn’t allowed in. You can only get there at low tide. Down the steps, along the passage then up the other side above the height of the sea. I nearly got trapped.’
‘What’s inside?’ Mariah asked, intrigued that anyone could have a workshop so deep underground.
‘It’s where he makes his inventions, that’s all I know.’ Sacha slowly turned the key in the lock. ‘This belongs to Bizmillah. No one comes here. If he wants anything he will send you. Keeps a lot of his stuff in his room, but he’ll never let you see it.’ She stepped inside and lit the gas lamp that sent a shaft of light spinning around the room.