Mariah Mundi

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘You did everything last night. That gives us until eight o’clock tonight. Should be enough time to see what’s going on down in the cellars.’

  ‘What if we get caught?’ he asked, his throat tighter than before.

  ‘Then we end up like Felix.’

  The steam elevator stopped suddenly. Sacha pulled the cage door open, stepped inside and waited for Mariah. He paused for the slightest of moments as he looked back to the door of his room, wondering how Old Scratty had found him. Within a second they were plummeting deeper and deeper into the depths of the Prince Regent. From far below, the smell of dank seaweed seeped from every stone and crevice as the steam elevator slowed to a juddering halt.

  ‘As deep as we go,’ Mariah said as he quietly slid the gate open and checked this way and that along the dark corridor. He peered from the elevator’s blanket of amber light and listened to the swish of the waves by the faraway portal.

  ‘A storm and the tide is in,’ Sacha snorted to herself, sniffing the air as if it would tell her the secrets of the cellar. ‘Perfume,’ she whispered to Mariah. ‘Monica has been this way.’

  Mariah suddenly perked up his ears and listened even more intently than before. He sniffed the air, trying with all his might to capture the tiniest essence of her fragrance. ‘How can you tell?’ he asked as Sacha stepped from the elevator and sniffed again, following the scent as if she were a bloodhound. ‘All I can smell is the stinking sea and the cess Luger pumps into the Galvanised Bathing Machine.’

  ‘It’s what you can’t smell that’s important,’ Sacha replied just above a breath. ‘They went this way – scent and cigars.’

  Mariah lifted his nose higher as he stood tiptoed and gulped the sharp breeze that rushed back and forth through the cellar from the sea like the laboured breathing of a stranded whale. There was the faintest, mildest whiff of pungent tobacco that hung momentarily in the air and then vanished like an ancient spectre. ‘Gone,’ he said to himself as he followed Sacha, quite disappointed that he couldn’t taste Monica’s scent upon his lips. ‘Are you sure it’s her and not another?’ he asked through clenched teeth.

  ‘Cheap,’ she whispered back, much to his annoyance. ‘From a penny cart in the market but strong enough to cover the smell of her salty sweat.’

  ‘What?’ Mariah asked, pulling her into a small arched doorway.

  ‘She drips with it, constantly powders her face to soak it from her skin. Lead paste and lime plaster. Why do you think she doesn’t take off those gloves?’ Sacha said as she nodded to herself in approval. ‘If she sits she leaves granny dabs wherever she’s been. Mister Murrybuck calls her the slug. Follow the trail and you’ll find Monica, dressed in black, sweating in the corner. Told me that as he carried in some cases.’

  ‘Murrybuck’s a fat old farting porter who stinks himself. Shouldn’t be talking about people in that way.’ Mariah scowled.

  ‘That he may be, but she still stinks. Snuggle up to her and it’s as if you’ve stuck your head in a chamber pot,’ Sacha said as she turned to follow the scent that only she could smell.

  The corridor led several turns to the left and only one to the right. It spiralled lower and lower, passing open doors and empty rooms, each lit by a single oil lamp set high upon the wall. The air grew thick with salt mist that clung to their skin, drying upon the lashes of their eyes like crisp white icicles. With every step the heat grew more intense as the steam thickened and swirled in the fading light.

  They turned a final corner and there in front of them was a short flight of steps that led quickly to a long, damp passageway. Far away in the darkness they could hear the sound of the sea crashing through the doors and rushing into the cellars. Mariah looked down to his feet as the sound of sharp scurrying rushed about him. The green-tiled cellar floor moved as one. Sharp shells clattered against each other. Grinding blacktipped pincers snapped at the air and red eyes on stalks stared back in the dim light.

  ‘Look!’ Mariah said as he stared at the thousands of tiny red eyes that reflected the dim lamplight. ‘What are they?’

  ‘Cancer Pagurus,’ Sacha replied as she stepped down one step to take a closer look. ‘Sea crabs, but twice the size of any I have seen before. We’ll never get that way – claws like that would snap through your ankle.’

  ‘How did Luger get through?’ Mariah asked as a particularly large red crab, the size of a dinner tray, crawled on another’s back and pulled itself up the step towards him, snapping its pincers.

  ‘They went in here,’ Sacha replied, pointing to a door set into an alcove in the wall and covered by dangling throngs of damp sea grass.

  Mariah continued to stare at the Pagurus that scraped its shell against the side of the step as it beat its two large claws against the green tiles. ‘Where do they come from?’ he asked quietly as he gazed at the creature. ‘It’s amazing – look at the size of the beast …’

  ‘Never been in this place before. Not even Bizmillah would come down here. Nothing but the wine cellars and –’ she stopped speaking and pointed to the corridor.

  In the misted half-light, Sacha saw the crabs quickly scurry to the sides of the passageway as from below their sharp pointed legs there slowly emerged an even larger, more gigantic back of an even greater creature. It shook the sand from its piecrust shell as it slowly and silently lifted itself to the very tips of its spiked legs. It hulked from side to side like a clawed grand piano set on six long pink legs.

  The creature turned slowly, picking a smaller crab from the floor. Crushing it in its pincers, it gorged itself with the dripping red mucus that oozed from the broken shell like the filling of an overstuffed sandwich. The Pagurus squealed with excitement and its mandibles quivered over its mouth. Its black eyes set on stubby stalks scanned the passageway, flexing in and out with every sharp and sudden breeze that gusted towards it.

  The Pagurus picked another crab the size of a small dog and again snapped it in two before pushing it ravenously into its mouth and crunching it with its mandibles. The creature shuddered and bristled the hairs upon its legs as it turned, and with one stem-like eye stared at them.

  Sacha and Mariah stood frozen with foreboding, hoping they would not be seen. All about them a host of small crabs scurried by, running into the open doors of the many rooms that lined the passageway. Mariah pushed her to one side, took hold of the large iron ring that formed the handle to the door in the alcove, and turned it as quickly as he could.

  The large Pagurus took two long and slow steps towards them, tasting the air as he picked his way through the scurrying masses that snapped at his bony, spiked feet. It stopped and snapped its pincers three times and then stepped even closer.

  ‘The door’s stuck,’ Mariah shouted as the creature came towards them through the steam-mist. ‘There has to be a key somewhere.’

  Sacha took Old Scratty’s key from her pocket and tried it in the lock. It twisted part way and then stuck tight and would move no further. She pulled it back and forth as Mariah pulled upon the circular handle and strands of sea grass fell upon them like cold wet hands.

  The Pagurus ambled slowly along the tiled corridor, too big to turn, its size forcing it to squeeze itself along the narrowing passageway. The chafing of its shell squealed into the distance like chalk on board as it snapped out its pincers with every step.

  Sacha pulled on the rusted key, which finally gave way and cracked from the lock. She looked crestfallen as she panted her breath and glanced back towards the creature that edged its way closer.

  ‘Just run!’ Mariah said, pulling sea grass from his face as the horror of what his eyes fell upon dawned in his mind. ‘We can go back.’

  ‘What about Felix?’ Sacha asked quickly as she held the key like a knife in her hand.

  ‘There must be another way … Quickly, run!’ Mariah pulled Sacha by the arm as the Pagurus quickened its gait towards them. ‘This way!’

  Together they set off at a fearful pace, running back the way they had come, u
p two flights of the spiralling corridor and then on to a long landing. The tiled green stone reflected the gas lamps like old moons rising from the sea. Far behind they could hear the clattering of the Pagurus as it chased on, its mandibles echoing like jagged, chattering teeth.

  ‘Which way now?’ Mariah screamed in a panic as he spun from his feet, slipping sideways and cascading across the steam-damp tiles.

  ‘Straight on, I think,’ Sacha said, knowing in her heart that she was lost in the labyrinth of passageways that honeycombed the cellars of the Prince Regent. ‘It all looks the same. Have we been here before?’

  Growing closer was the scraping of the Pagurus as it dragged its immense carapace towards them upon its spiked feet.

  In the distance, lit by the last lamp, was a small doorway. It was set two feet from the floor, as if it were a hatch into the roof of a lower room. The door had been cut from a single piece of oak that now twisted from the shape of the entrance and was held tightly shut by a rusted metal latch. As they drew near, Mariah could see that the corridor opened up to the right and then suddenly stopped. They could go no further.

  From a thick black ceiling vent there billowed a vast cloud of white steam smelling of the sea. It curdled along the dripping tiles as hissing drops of boiling water splattered to the floor. The sound of the steam generator juddered the corridor, shaking the walls. By accident, they had discovered the heart of the Prince Regent.

  Mariah waded through the cloud of steam that hung at waist height until he found the latch to the door. It held fast, corroded by a thick salt crust that gripped to every contour. Sacha stood by the far wall, looking to the ceiling as a thin film of condensation bowed from the ceiling and fell to the floor with a dull splat.

  ‘No way out,’ she said. She looked back and saw the first gigantic claw of the Pagurus edge its way slowly around the corner of the passageway, snipping at the steam.

  ‘Give me the key,’ Mariah insisted. ‘It might be of use.’ His voice was twisted with fear.

  He snatched the key from her and began to hammer at the door catch. The salt crust cracked open, following the line of the rusted metal. Mariah turned as the Pagurus scuttled closer, stopping every few feet to wipe the swirling mist from its stalk eyes with its mandibles. It spied them, chattering its teeth and clashing it claws as if they were cavalry sabres. It suddenly darted forward, lashing out with a long claw that caught Sacha by the hair, pulling her from her feet. She vanished beneath the pall of steam that blew from the vent above them.

  ‘Mariah!’ she screamed as she was dragged backwards across the dank tiles closer to the creature’s mouth. ‘Mariah!’

  Without hesitation Mariah hit the lock for a final time and saw the door spring open. He turned to the Pagurus as it snapped at him with its other claw. The great crustacean lurched again and again, unable to turn the bulk of its carapace in the narrow width of the passageway. Sacha screamed as it beat her against the wall, holding her tightly by a thick lock of hair.

  Seeing his chance, Mariah stepped towards the Pagurus and smashed the key against its eyes, with one blow cutting the iris from the top of the stem. It flinched back as a thick goo seeped from the wound. All around was filled with scalding steam.

  ‘Now!’ Mariah screamed in terror as he hit the half blind creature again and again. It instinctively flicked Sacha from its grasp, spinning her across the floor towards the open doorway. She got to her feet, rising from the mist, and quickly jumped inside.

  ‘Come on, Mariah!’ she shouted as the crab twisted itself to one side and then suddenly freed both claws, pulling the boy towards its mouth.

  ‘Shut the door!’ he shouted as he vanished in the churning steam and the crab squeezed him to itself.

  The Pagurus looked at her through the thick salt fog filling the passageway.

  ‘Mariah!’ she shouted again, not knowing where he had gone.

  The crab staggered towards her, its legs dancing and slipping this way and that. It slammed against the hot tiles as it lunged repeatedly.

  ‘Mariah!’ she screamed, desperate to see the briefest glimpse of him in the furling mist and know all was well.

  There came a sudden thud that pounded again and again on the back of the creature. A shadow veiled in steam like a phantasm leapt from its back and to the floor.

  ‘The door!’ he shouted as the crab attempted to see its attacker. Mariah leapt towards the entrance that was cut in the tiled wall and was now filling with steam.

  Sacha fell backwards as he landed upon her, the Pagurus thrashing at the entrance as it tried to pluck them like small periwinkles from the shell. Mariah got to his feet as the heavy claw pushed its way deeper into the room snapping wildly in the air. With all his might he pushed against the oak door as the crab picked and poked, seeking to gouge them from the hiding place. He pushed with every ounce of strength and fibre from his failing and bruised body.

  In the darkened room Sacha struck a Lucifer. As it burst into life the Pagurus suddenly recoiled in the dazzling brightness. Mariah, seizing the advantage, slammed the oak door against the creature and slid the bolt. He looked at Sacha and smiled, holding out his hand to hers.

  ‘Many left?’ he asked as the match began to fade.

  ‘Enough to light this,’ she said as she brought a thick stubby candle from her pocket and with the dying flame of the Lucifer gave it new life. ‘Don’t really like the dark,’ she said softly. ‘Father would lock me in a cupboard and leave me there. He said the Boggat would come for me if I got out. Always carry matches and a candle. Never feared the Boggat or anything since.’

  ‘Does that include vanishing dolls, Krakens and giant crabs?’ Mariah said breathlessly as he leant against the oak door, smiling at her in the soft light of the candle flame as the steam generator hummed and hissed somewhere close by.

  ‘And a London boy who brings pandemonium with him …’

  [ 18 ]

  Moon Sand

  THEY sat for several minutes in the shimmering candlelight and listened to the Pagurus. It coughed and chirped in the dark steaming passageway outside the room. The crab tried to force its claw into the warp of the door and prise it open, but soon gave up its search and reluctantly clambered and clumsily clattered its way along the passageway. Stopping momentarily, it squatted in the mist, its one stalk-eye peering from the gloom like a black mushroom.

  Mariah peered through a crack in the door, watching the creature’s every move. It slowly crawled out of sight, but he knew it would be waiting – that in the darkness the Pagurus would be ready to pounce and snap them in two with its black-tipped claws, then lusciously feast upon their flesh. Sacha sat quietly, playing with the candle wax as it dribbled down her fingers and into the palm of her hand. From all around them came the hissing of the steam generator that gulped and yawned as it pumped the boiling water to the farthest corners of the Prince Regent.

  ‘How long can we stay here?’ Sacha asked Mariah as he sat down once more and looked about him.

  ‘The Pagurus is still there,’ he said, motioning to the passageway outside the room. ‘Doubtless it’ll just wait. There must be another way of getting by.’

  Sacha raised the candle above her head, lighting the high ceiling and a far stone wall. ‘Do you think that these are the foundations?’ she asked as she stared at the large thick stones cut neatly into blocks the size of a carriage that made up the wall. ‘They say there used to be a hot spring here and people would come to swim in the water. There’s still a tap in the refectory. A golden tap that the guests can drink from at a shilling a time. I tried it once – tasted like horse pee.’

  ‘That’s why Isambard Black said he was coming here – to taste the waters. Hope it is horse pee and that it chokes him,’ Mariah said as he got to his feet and ran his hand along the rough blocks. ‘These are old stones,’ he said. ‘Look at the marks – cut by hand. Do you think we’re below the sea?’

  ‘Far below,’ Sacha replied thoughtfully. ‘The store to the theatr
e is on a level with the beach. How much further down we are I don’t know.’

  ‘And the steam generator – who looks after it?’ Mariah asked.

  Sacha paused and thought. It was the one thing she had never considered. She had seen the waiters in their fine coats and neat trousers, an army of maids, chefs, cooks and bottle-washers, but she had never seen anyone come from below the ground.

  ‘Takes care of itself,’ she said after a while. ‘It must do, I don’t know anyone who works down here.’

  ‘Then it’ll be the first steam engine that runs on its own,’ Mariah exclaimed as he walk further into the shadows, following the contours of the wall as if he were looking for something. ‘Here!’ he shouted from the blackness. ‘Bring the candle and see what I’ve found.’

  Sacha followed his voice, bringing light to the darkness. The tiled floor soon became broken stone and then turned to small boulders of brittle rubble that littered the floor. It was as if she had walked into the ruins of an old castle, overcast by the darkest of night skies with no moon to guide her feet. In her mind she thought the hissing of the steam generator sounded like the panting of a sleeping dragon. Sacha could not believe that she was still deep inside the Prince Regent, far below the level of the sea. All around were remnants of the building of the hotel. Discarded shovels, picks, broken bottles and empty pot mugs were strewn by the wall in a makeshift rubbish dump.

  ‘Look at this,’ Mariah said excitedly as he stood in a sealed-up doorway. ‘It looks like the entrance to whatever stood here before the hotel.’

  Sacha went over to him and held up the candle. It cast long shadows across the room. She could clearly see the old doorway that had been cut into the thick stones and then sealed with the same fine red bricks that clad the Prince Regent from sea to sky. Looking up she could see that the lintel above the door was made of stone and that running through the centre was a fine crack the size of a finger’s width. It hung with salt webs that glistened in the light like a fall of fresh snow clinging to the mistletoe.