Mariah Mundi

by G. P. Taylor

  They had no choice. Rhamses pointed again to the table with the sharp-tipped knife and crinkled his forehead into deep furrows of expectation. The table was in the far corner of the restaurant, surrounded by tall silk screens covered in flying dragons and large parlour palms in red earthen pots.

  Rhamses curled his lip in mock disappointment as the long blond spikes of hair bounced from side to side. ‘Sit!’ he said loudly. ‘It will be sent to you, and don’t move.’ He waved the knife from side to side as he held the twitching frogs legs in his hand. ‘It is amazing how sharp these become with use.’

  He vanished through the doors as Sacha took her seat and faced the windows that overlooked the sea. Far below, two bathing boxes had been pulled into the water and already she could distinguish the bobbing of a red bathing cap in the cold Oceanus Germanicus. ‘Sit here,’ she instructed Mariah as she patted the leather of the mahogany chair. ‘Keep lookout, and if they come we will at least see their reflection in the window.’

  Mariah looked behind him to the doors of the steam elevator. All was quiet. At several tables the waiters sat and waited for their breakfast. They all looked the same: tall, thin with a wisp of a moustache etched across their lips. One looked towards Mariah, disgruntled, as he twisted his fork in the quiff of greased hair that hung loosely over his face. He stared at them through deep murky eyes, set beneath the darkest brow Mariah had ever seen. The waiter stared and stared as he scooped spoonfuls of thick grey porridge from a porcelain bowl, sucking it from the spoon with disgusting dribbles. Mariah looked away and then moments later looked again. The waiter still had his stare fixed upon them.

  Then the kitchen door suddenly sprang open and Rhamses strutted into the room carrying a large silver tray stacked high with gleaming white plates all trimmed with shining bands of silver warmers. He balanced the stack upon his fingers as with one hand he laid out the food before them. He gave a gracious smile that wrinkled his chin and twisted a small white scar on his top lip into the shape of a rising moon. Rhamses’s bark ebbed to a soft voice as he saw their eyes light up with fervent anticipation.

  ‘Food, good food, and I know you’ll like it,’ he said eagerly. ‘Eat and then work.’ Rhamses looked at Mariah. ‘You’re new? Work for Bizmillah? Can tell by the clothes. Always dresses them in black.’ The chef wrinkled his nose. ‘You’ll stay around longer than Felix. He was my best customer and liked my food. Then he vanished. Some say he was washed from the pier, taken by the Kraken.’

  ‘I heard it was food poisoning,’ Sacha mocked as she picked what looked to be a small roasted chicken wing from a china bowl and crunched upon it.

  ‘And I heard you didn’t like frog’s legs,’ Rhamses replied. As he strolled from the table through the kitchen door and out of sight Sacha realised what she’d just eaten.

  Mariah turned again as he peeled a boiled egg and sprinkled it with salt. The waiter still stared at them through the gap between two silk-screens. Then he wiped his chin with the edge of the tablecloth and got up and walked away. He glanced over his shoulder as he slipped through the mahogany doors that swung back and forth on stiff springs, rattling the glass panes.

  They ate well, Mariah constantly checking the ivory-faced clock that hung above the door, its skeleton-hand pendulum swinging with each second. ‘Time to go,’ he said as the steam elevator began to churn. ‘Could be them.’

  The elevator whooshed past the restaurant in a jet of steam, destined for a higher place. Mariah breathed a sigh of relief as he realised it couldn’t be Grimm and Grendel that had called it.

  The door to the restaurant opened and the sultry waiter came into the room wiping his moustache with long, greasy fingers. He had a smug smile etched on his face, and an eyelid twitched nervously as he grinned at Mariah. The waiter took his seat, staring at them constantly. Mariah said nothing as he pushed the wax hand deeper into his coat. He nodded to Sacha to finish the banquet and, when she continued, kicked her under the table. She looked up startled and caught the waiter’s eye for the first time.

  Sacha chewed the last of the food and raised her eyebrows, nodding to Mariah as she placed her knife and fork across the plate and creased the napkin to one side in seven deliberate folds.

  ‘He was a friend to Felix,’ she whispered. ‘He was with him on the night he disappeared. Says he’s French. Spends a lot of time talking to Luger.’

  The waiter smiled and then gave a genteel wave to Sacha as he cleared the table and disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘Now,’ said Mariah as he pushed back the mahogany chair and got to his feet.

  ‘Going?’ said a voice from the other side of the silk screen. ‘And so soon. We’ve been waiting for you to finish your breakfast.’ Grimm pushed his fat jowled face around the dragon prints and smiled like a bloodhound. ‘I was just saying to Mister Grendel that it would be far better to wait for them to finish before we asked them to come with us, wasn’t I, Mister Grendel?’

  ‘Indeed, Grimm, indeed.’ Grendel quivered as he peered down at them from above the screen, his hands gripping the wooden frame to stop them shaking.

  ‘So … Now that you have finished, I would like you to come with us,’ Grimm said as if was inviting them for tea.

  ‘GUESTS!’ screamed a voice from behind the kitchen door. ‘In the restaurant?’ the voice screamed again. ‘NEVER!’

  Rhamses burst through the door, knife in hand, a scowl like sour milk across his face. ‘YOU!’ he screamed as Grimm turned to look at him. ‘Yes, you. The fat dwarf with the face like a bulldog sucking a thistle.’ Grimm opened his mouth in protest but could not say a word as Rhamses grabbed him by the throat and dragged him across the room to the door, followed meekly by Grendel. ‘Out of my restaurant, now.’

  ‘But we’re here on Mister Luger’s business – we have to take the boy to him,’ Grimm replied as the chef’s large hand squeezed the breath from his throat, his voice pitched to that of a choking cockerel.

  ‘They are my guests,’ Rhamses replied as he lifted Grimm from the floor with one hand and summoned Grendel to leave with the other. ‘They will stay as long as there is food on the table.’ He looked to Mariah and signalled with his eyes for them to run.

  Mariah grabbed Sacha and pushed her through the kitchen door. They tumbled to the floor at the feet of the sultry waiter. He grabbed Sacha by the arm, dragging her to her feet.

  ‘This way,’ he said as he pulled them both through the kitchen. ‘It’ll take you through the cellar and into the street. ‘Go – Felix was my friend.’ He smiled as he pushed them down a short flight of steps and into a basement packed with fruit and stacked cases of wine. Ahead they could see the two open doors that led into the square. They clattered through the darkened room and into the bright light of morning, the sound of Rhamses haranguing Grimm and Grendel fading into the distance.

  [ 22 ]

  The Emporium Vaults

  MARIAH ran from the building, chased by his shadow. The streets were full of people milling around the large market that took place outside the Prince Regent. He ran in and out amongst the brightly coloured stalls, with Sacha chasing on behind. A small black dog with a head like a snarled lorica snapped his heels as he ran, biting and gnashing. Mariah kicked out, sending the creature spinning headlong through the dank mud that covered the square.

  There was a sudden shout from the crowd for him to stop, as if he had been recognised for some crime. A large man of burly frame and bristling moustache lashed out, seeking to grab him by his coat as he ran. Mariah ducked, managing to fall beneath the blow as he rolled in the mud, then got to his feet and started to run again. Sacha hid amongst the stalls, trying to avoid the gazing eye of Isambard Black as he looked on from the balcony of the Prince Regent.

  ‘Here!’ she shouted in a panic, as Mariah ran further away, cutting close to a man hacking at a joint of cow’s leg that splattered fragments of bloodied meat into the air and on to Mariah as he stormed by. ‘This way!’ Sacha shouted even louder, above the ca
ckle and babble of the market, vainly attempting to gain his attention. Mariah turned and caught a glimpse of her some way off. ‘If we get through here, we’ll get away,’ she said quickly as she danced in agitation, hoping to draw him to her. Mariah stumbled as he ran, picking himself up and falling again in the deep mud.

  Outside the Prince Regent a carriage stopped abruptly. Mariah looked back and saw Perfidious Albion dragged from the coach and into the mudded square. Two men dressed in black suits and long coats held him by the arms. Both wore red hats shaped to the form of a flattened pork pie and braided in gold. He could see they were unshaven and bleary-eyed from the journey. For some unknown reason, Perfidious Albion turned and, glaring through the market stalls, saw Mariah. He tried to smile at him, then quickly looked away, nodding his head as he was hauled up the marble steps and into the hotel.

  From the revolving door of the Prince Regent stepped Grimm and Grendel. They greeted Perfidious Albion with a glove slapped about his face then looked up and down the marketplace. Each was holding his black walking cane, tipped with a lion’s head. Grimm rubbed his throat; his ruby-red cheeks and shining skin glistened in the first rays of the morning sun. Grendel adjusted his spectacles as he squinted in the bright morning light. They looked to each other, then stepped into the dirt, sullying their crisp black shoes with the mud that now engulfed the tips of their feet.

  Together they wobbled across the market, Grendel sniffing the air as if he could trace where Mariah had run. Grimm looked at the soil, examining each footprint. From his pocket he pulled the large round spectacles and placed them on his stubby nose. He gazed intensely at the ground, pointing to the mud with a stubby squat finger.

  ‘This way,’ he said, his irritating voice echoing against the brick wall of the Prince Regent Hotel. ‘I can see their footmarks. The spectacles work well, even in daylight,’ he said as he adjusted the gold frames and turned a small dial on the side of the lens. ‘Even better,’ he said as he walked quickly. ‘With one more turn, I’ll be able to see every footstep that they take. Stupid cooker,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Thought he could stop me finding them, did he? His goose will surely be burnt to a crisp when I return.’

  Grimm hobbled on like a large fat penguin, his coat-tails billowing in the breeze. Grendel tried to pick his way through the mud, tiptoeing with each step.

  ‘I can smell them!’ Grendel said as he sniffed a bellyful of air and made a pouting expression with his thin lips. ‘Fear, dripping from their bodies like dew. There’s nothing better than a chase, especially on the day of the Christmas market.’ He plunged his cane firmly into the mud, squelching it deep down beneath his weight as he strutted behind his fat friend.

  Grimm bumbled on. He pushed his way through the revellers, knocking a stand of fine ale to the ground and ignoring the comments and swearing of the man who stood close by.

  ‘Leave him be. This isn’t your matter,’ Grendel said to the man, who glared at Grimm, hoping for compensation. ‘We are detecting, and nothing can stand in the way of that!’ He pushed the man, who fell on his backside, squelching in the mud with deep indignation.

  ‘This way!’ said Grimm happily, as he strutted through the market. ‘Their footsteps are still hot. I can see them through the spectacles. They are not long ahead of us. They are running, running, but they will never escape.’

  ‘A good investment, good investment,’ Grendel replied as he scurried on behind.

  ‘There is a man in Utah who will not be able to read the writing on a plate. I took them from him,’ Grimm said. ‘Told me he was a prophet, said he could speak Greek but couldn’t utter a word.’

  Far ahead, Mariah and Sacha beat their way through the market. Sacha turned and caught the glimpse of a fine black silver-topped hat far behind. She realised that Grimm and Grendel followed in their wake.

  ‘They’re behind us, Mariah. We’ll have to go this way,’ she said as she pointed to a narrow side street that led as an escape from the market. Mariah looked up, his gaze reaching from the dirt to the heavens. He saw before him the tall castle bar and, taking several steps across the street, they went through the archway and into the narrow lane that led into the centre of the town.

  To each side were arcades of the strangest shops that Mariah had ever seen. In the window of a fishmonger’s was a large black skate hanging from a hook by its tail. It wallowed like a hanged man, its mouth open, seawater dripping from its face and doleful glazed eyes that stared at Mariah.

  ‘We can’t stay!’ Sacha said, pulling at his coat sleeves, trying to get him to walk faster to get away from the marketplace.

  ‘I know someone who we can go and see. There’s a man. He’s a collector. He works at the Emporium. If we go there, I know we’ll get away. I know he can help us.’ There was desperation in her voice, as if she spoke to convince herself. As they clattered into the crowded street across the bright stone cobbles, she turned back. Far behind, two silk hats followed, one squat, the other tall and thin, to match their wearers.

  Together they ran along Bar Street, its narrow buildings reaching high above them and clawing at the dark sky, protecting them from the large raindrops that now beat down on the grey slates and thatched roofs high above them.

  Sacha stopped suddenly and dragged Mariah into the doorway of an old snuff shop, its windows clad in sticky brown slime and displaying the words: Ebenezer Bartholomew’s. Magical Snuff. Guaranteed to blow the cobwebs from even the most stifled of brains.

  Mariah read the fading gold and bronze words and Wondered what Ebenezer’s goods could do for him. Sacha turned to the door but didn’t go in. She pressed her face upon the glass, as if to see who was inside. She grabbed Mariah and turned him towards her.

  ‘Look inside!’ she said. ‘Look inside!’ They hid their faces against the glass. In the reflection of the window Mariah saw a Peeler in his long black cape and helmet amble by. He looked in and out of every window up and down Bar Street as if he searched for someone or something. Sacha waited.

  ‘It’s safe,’ she said. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Why were you hiding from him?’ Mariah asked as he turned and looked into the street. The constable was walking away, hands firmly clasped behind his back as he swaggered.

  ‘It’s Jack Teal. He’s a friend of my father. If he sees me out, he’ll know I’m up to something. You don’t understand, Mariah. This place has got eyes and ears and whatever we do, someone or something’s going to see us.’

  Sacha looked back along the street and saw Jack Teal talking to Grimm and Grendel. They engaged him in polite conversation, bowing and nodding as they passed the time of day. Grimm took the spectacles from his nose and folded them neatly, placing them in a black silk bag and slipping them quickly into his inside jacket pocket. He gave them a reassuring pat as he slithered a pair of fine black gloves with silver-trimmed fingers on to his hand.

  ‘He knows them!’ Mariah said, as he saw the discourse taking place. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Sacha thought and then grabbed his hand. ‘This way,’ she said. ‘If we keep on going, we can outrun them.’

  They left the narrow lane of shops and turned when they heard a clattering of carriages. The whole street was squashed and filled with horses, neighing and braying as they tried to push past each other. Sacha pulled Mariah as they ran down the hill towards the harbour, the fresh smell of the sea blowing in the breeze. In front of them they could see the pinnacle of the Emporium decked with a large Jack that flew in the wind.

  ‘Not far,’ Sacha gasped as she smiled at Mariah, the confidence coming back to her face.

  In five minutes they stood beneath the tower of the Emporium. By the doorway to the market vault there was a pillar of bright yellow sandstone that reached up above their heads to a now bright blue sky. By the side were blackened windows etched with news of the latest sale of remnant goods and all that had survived the most recent wreck upon the rocks.

  The door to the market vault was firmly shut. A gargo
yle of a coiled lizard looked down upon them as they stared at each other, not knowing what to do. Sacha pushed at the brightly painted blue wooden slats and the large metal handle that ran across the door. It opened suddenly. They fell inwards with a jolt, down the four worn slabs and on to the stone floor beneath.

  There before them the vaults opened up like a large ornate bazaar, candle-lit and yet still dark. The only shadows were created by a soft light in the distance. Cautiously they went further inside, Sacha leading the way.

  At the end of the corridor of shops, all with their windows tightly shuttered, Mariah could see a faint light reflected through the thick glass of a window. To each side of him were arched doorways covered with beaded blinds and symbols of their trade hanging above.

  The palm of a large hand etched in golden lines swung silently above them. Mariah read the words above the shop door: The Great Plagiarus – Palmist and Phrenologist – May the bumps on your head speak great voices of the future – No Credit. Beneath the sign and stuck to the window glass was a small note, quickly etched in a child’s crayon: Closed – Due to unforeseen circumstances.

  Mariah felt he himself was a lad of unforeseen circumstances, a child of constant sorrow. His feet suddenly drudged, the life ebbing from them, turning his toes to lead and his knees to rigid iron. Within his heart he had an overwhelming desire to give himself to Grimm and Grendel and do whatever they wished. It was as if a dark cloud had blown from horizon to horizon, blotting out the sun and turning day to night. All hope had suddenly gone as he fretted mournfully about the voices of his future and wished Plagiarus had not been so called away.

  ‘Would be good if we could consult the future,’ he said to Sacha as they gazed in each shop window they passed by. ‘Should have asked the Panjandrum what would happen … All we did was watch it like a circus – a waste, really.’ He sounded downcast, his words fading.