by G. P. Taylor
‘And you’ll be dead if the Kraken finds you,’ Sacha said, her feet rooted to the ground as if they had penetrated the rock and taken root.
‘The Kraken? So, you’ve found a new friend? How charming. Is he still pining for his companion? Still weeping for his loved one? How romantic. I know many a man who would pay a golden guinea to have his lovers turned into ageless china dolls that sat in the corner and never complained or spent their money.’
‘He said you were a sea witch,’ Sacha said as her feet began to brittle in a fine white powder. A growing stench of brine and old cod oil filled the tunnel, billowing from Monica with every breath.
‘And that I am, gloriously powerful and here for a purpose – to capture you.’ Monica pushed against the stone doorway and managed to pull her dripping flesh halfway through the wood. She stood one-legged, her left foot stuck on the other side. Sacha was frozen to the spot. She glanced to her feet and saw what looked like a rising frost slowly climbing up her legs and crisping her clothes inch by inch.
‘Salting.’ Monica laughed as she tugged on her leg to release it from the grip of the door. ‘It’ll hold you until I am free of this door and can get you myself.’
With a final pull she freed herself from the wood and shook like a wet dog. Drips of bright blue liquid showered the tunnel and mixed with the dank smell of sea salt. Monica looked at Sacha as she stepped towards her. The salting had crawled up to her waist, holding her fast.
‘Now let me see who you are,’ Monica said as she peered at Sacha through eyes that were milky white and misted with a fine skin. She reached out with a long gloved hand, the red fingernails piercing through the black silk.
Sacha panicked as the hand came towards her face, the thick claws reaching to touch her skin. ‘Leave me!’ she screamed as she pulled away, wanting the sea witch to stop. ‘Leave me now!’
‘Or what will you do?’ Monica said looking even closer to make out her complexion and the shape of her face. ‘Nothing, you’ll do nothing. Just like all you creatures.’
Sacha cowered as the first finger stroked her skin and Monica slid her thin hand around her neck. It was then that she noticed Monica’s face began to dry and crinkle. The pool of brine grew about her feet and the stench of the sea became even more intense – it was the smell of dead fish, fish left in the sun and covered in flies, eaten by maggots and festering until the guts retched. She tried not to breathe, gasping quickly through clenched teeth as Monica’s face was pressed closer to hers. The sea witch peered at her through an ever-milkier eye, the membrane thickening as the fluid seeped from her body.
‘It’s Sacha, isn’t it?’ Monica asked quietly as she scanned the girl’s features for a single point of recognition. ‘Worked for Bizmillah – he’ll be sad you’re gone.’
‘What’ll you do?’ Sacha asked, unable to get away from the stench.
‘Otto’s been looking for you. Who did you come with? There were two of you,’ Monica whispered closely, almost like a kiss. ‘Don’t tell me you came back on your own. Grimm and Grendel chased you from here this morning. I wasn’t foggy-eyed then and even I caught a glimpse of your friend.’ Monica let go of her grip and she counted her fingers like an eagle’s talons. ‘Imagine, Sacha, what these could do to your pretty face. Was it Mariah Mundi who was with you?’
Sacha cast her glance to the floor, her downcast eyes speaking all truth.
‘I knew there was something troublesome about that boy. Otto should never have taken him on. Told him he was one too many but he never listens to any of my thoughts, never listens to any of his own.’ Monica curled her long nails in front of Sacha’s face like a cat. ‘Still, come midnight, Otto will have enough trouble of his own.’
‘He’s gonna turn you into a waxwork,’ Sacha blurted as she grabbed Monica’s hand and pulled the glove.
‘Never,’ she replied.
‘Saw it myself, hidden in his laboratory. There you were, as bold as brass and made of wax. You’re done for – he doesn’t want you any more.’ Sacha spoke fearfully as slowly the salting that now encased her legs began to crumble. Monica pulled against her, the glove slipping from her arm, then hand and finally from her reddened fingertips.
Clutching the sequined black silk in her hand, all Sacha could see were fleshless bones tipped by painted fingernails. She stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed, her voice stuck in her throat. Monica smiled dryly as the moisture seeped from her painted face.
‘So you finally know. First one to see that in a long time. Can’t have you tell anyone about this, my little girl. The secret has to stay in here. I was gonna take you to see your friend, let you spend your time with Felix and all the others Otto has got stuck in that hell-hole of an oyster farm. Now … now it’s a different end to the story.’ Monica reached into the small purse that she carried around her shoulder. From within she brought out a pair of silver handcuffs. ‘Had other plans for these but I guess you’ll have to be the lucky lady.’
‘I won’t tell, I never saw anything, nothing,’ Sacha said as she closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more.
Monica snapped one cuff upon Sacha’s wrist and squeezed the metal against the flesh. ‘Too late, my girl, far too late. I wouldn’t want Otto to see his hot date was rotting from the inside out.’ Monica sniffed as if about to cry. ‘But if what you say’s true then maybe he won’t be around for much longer either,’ she said as she slipped the handcuff on Sacha’s other wrist and squeezed tightly. ‘There, my baby. I’ll rest you with your friend and see what Otto has to say for himself before I deal with you.’
In the far tunnel the sound of a slamming door echoed through the dusty passage. Monica muttered some strange words that Sacha couldn’t hear. The salting crumbled from her feet as the sea witch pulled her by the arms and dragged her towards the oyster lagoon. Monica seemed distracted, as if her thoughts kept her mind from knowing where she was and the presence of Sacha was a small diversion in all her affairs. Her misted eyes twitched and squirmed as they crusted even more, parching with each step. Flakes of powdered skin fell to the floor as Monica led Sacha on and on.
‘Soon be there,’ the sea witch said as she turned the corner of the tunnel that led down a flight of steps and on to a gantry across the oyster lagoon.
‘What about the beast?’ Sacha asked.
‘My little friend is locked away, ready for later – and to make sure you don’t escape. One word to Otto, one squawk, and you die on the spot – before you see your friend.’
Sacha looked down at the steaming brown water, lit by a crescent of lamps that hung from the ceiling of the chamber. Far across the lagoon was the cell where she had seen Felix. The water was still, its surface broken only by the gentle simmering of a million oysters bubbling below. By the side of the pool was a discarded pile of opened shells that shimmered in the light.
‘Get you tucked up and then I’ll see the fat freak himself,’ Monica muttered as she opened the door of the small cell and pushed Sacha inside. ‘He’s in there somewhere, him and the others.’
The door slammed behind her. Sacha grabbed the small barred opening and looked out. She watched as Monica walked towards the lagoon, her skirt-tails trailing behind her. The sea witch strutted into the lake and slowly submerged herself in the pool, vanishing below the surface.
‘Does it every day, has to bathe in the seawater or she’ll dry up and die,’ a voice said behind her. ‘Never thought I’d see you again – thought they had you,’ Felix said as he pulled a rag blanket from himself and got to his feet.
‘She’s gonna kill me, Felix. I saw what she is, she’s gonna kill me …’
[ 29 ]
Imprimatur
THE steam elevator was completely dark. It shrugged reluctantly up the floors from the lowest basement of the Prince Regent to the very top without stopping. Mariah Mundi had left Captain Jack on the beach. He had been told to find the fortune cards and meet him in the Trisagion within the hour. Now he stood in the darkness with his thought
s and fears, wondering where Sacha had gone. He thought of her in the hotel, somewhere alone, knowing she had come to set Felix free. He considered what bound them together in their friendship, that she could leave himself behind and seek the quest alone. Their own alliance had grown over the past days: he had seen her changeable heart that reminded him of his own. She could be both brave and fearful in the passing of a single breath; she was torn between duty and desire, never caring for the gravity of what they would endure.
Everything began to make sense for him. Charity made it all the better. At last there was someone for whom he could care – a man he could get to know, and with whom he might share all that he would experience. No longer would he need to look to the sky and talk to the moon and tell it his secrets. Charity was as good as family, a nearly father, but one fraught with trouble.
The thoughts comforted Mariah as the elevator chugged on. They were tinged with a glimmer of excitement and hope for the future. Knowing that the Captain was there made all of what he had agreed to do somewhat easier: he was no longer alone in the adventure.
By the time the elevator had stopped on the very top floor of the hotel and the doors had been slid open, Mariah was convinced he would succeed. He knew that all he had to do was go to his room, find the Panjandrum cards, put them in his deep pocket and return via the stairs to the ground floor and await Captain Charity, who by then would be in the theatre bar with Cuba at his feet.
‘Simple,’ he said to himself as he stepped from the lift and opened the door to his room. Everything was as it had been left. The lamp was dimly wicked and cast a gentle and welcoming light about him. The bed was neatly made and looked undisturbed. The window that overlooked the bay was half open, the curtains gently blustering in the night breeze. Yet as he stepped in through the door he was aware of something that was not how it should be.
Hanging in the room was a subtle smell, a fragrance that he had known before. On the mantel of the fire, propped like a plump sausage against the cold brown tiles, was the smoking butt of a fat cigar – an Otto Luger cigar, wrapped in a thick gold band and chewed at the end. As he closed the door behind him Mariah suddenly became aware that he was not alone. For a second he froze; then the silence gave way to a gentle cough and a cloud of smoke was breathed over him.
‘Wondered how long I could hold it in for,’ said a voice as it grunted the words between coughing. ‘Been looking for you, Mariah, thought you’d left for good.’
Mariah turned as he stepped back towards the window. ‘Mister Black! What could you want of me?’ he asked. ‘Guests shouldn’t visit the staff.’
‘Nothing of you, but that which you were given at Kings Cross. Some playing cards?’ Black said as he stroked his chin.
‘Never heard of anything like that,’ Mariah replied, taking a step further back and putting his hand upon the window ledge.
‘Surely they were given to you by Perfidious Albion, a man you met before you boarded the train.’
Mariah’s eyes darted to the bed and gave away his thoughts.
‘Hidden somewhere near, are they?’ Black asked grimly as he stepped to the mantel and picked up the cigar, taking a long gasp and inhaling the noxious fumes.
‘I have nothing for you in this place, it would be best if you were to go and I to get on with my business,’ Mariah said. He was sitting on the narrow ledge, placing one foot upon it as he tried to lean casually against the frame.
‘According to my friend and magical partner, Mister Bizmillah, you are no longer employed by the hotel. Apparently two youths were chased by a certain Grimm and Grendel from the establishment this morning and are to be charged with theft.’ Black grinned and for the first time Mariah saw that his front teeth had been tipped with gold. ‘Apparently they have stolen something of value from Otto Luger and made off into the town with the two detectives in hot pursuit.’
‘Never heard of such a thing. I’ve been in the company of a family friend. This is my day off and if Bizmillah chooses to sack me for that then well and good. I’ll take my leave and fry fish.’ Mariah now sat fully on the windowsill, looking to the small ledge and the sea far below.
‘So the cards are here?’ Black insisted, holding out his fob watch that appeared to glow and vibrate in his hand. ‘In fact they are nearer than you think, young Mister Mundi. I need to have them back; they were given to you for safe-keeping. Now tell me, what have you done with them?’ He shouted at the lad and kicked the bed with his booted foot.
The Panjandrum cards fell to the floor from their hiding place, spilling from the pack across the fireside rug. The Joker slithered across the floor to Mariah and looked up through his crooked eye.
‘Panjandrum,’ Black grunted, wide-eyed and short of breath. He dived upon them as if to stop them from running from the room. ‘At last I will have them back.’
Mariah saw his chance. He scooped the Joker from the floor and placed it in his pocket, and as Black clumsily attempted to gather up the cards he jumped from the window and fell to the narrow ledge below.
‘No!’ came the shout from inside the room as Isambard Black realised what was happening. ‘It’s not as you think.’
Mariah didn’t want to listen; all he sought was his escape from Black. He held fast to the small ledge that ran just above his head, his feet gripping the row of narrow bricks beneath them. Around him he could hear the calling of the gulls as they swooped upon him, pecking at the long strands of his hair that billowed in the breeze. Mariah didn’t dare look below. He knew that he stood above the sea and the waves that beat upon the shore, and that if he fell from his precarious footing he would fall and crash against the surf.
Hand over hand he made his way along the ledge to the slope of the roof. The gulls swooped and dived like dark angels, one flying so close that it bit sharply at his right ear. Blood seeped from the wound and across his face. He held tightly to the ledge, the pain intense, the gull mocking him as it dived again and again to pull him from his grip.
Isambard Black looked from the window of the room and called to him. ‘Come back, Mariah, it’s not as you think – I’m here to help you.’ The man smiled at him and offered his outstretched hand.
Mariah pressed on, turning his face away and looking to the moon. In two paces he jumped from the ledge to the lead-covered roof and the long balustrade that ran at waist height the full side of the hotel.
‘Come back, Mariah,’ Black shouted. ‘I need to talk. It really is not as you think.’
Mariah cast him a glance as he felt the blood trickling down his neck. With one hand he touched his ear and felt the wound, then set of across the roof.
He knew that to escape he would have to break into the Prince Regent. The birds chased him as he ran, swooping and diving, claws outstretched, beaks pecking at his hands as he tried to fend them off. Soon he was at the far tower and six feet above him was the porthole of Albion’s room.
Mariah could see faint candlelight and a shadow cast upon the ceiling. He crawled up the grey slates and peered in. There was Albion. He was standing alone, chained to the bed by one hand. Mariah watched as the man reached out to the mantelpiece where a silver key was tantalisingly lying.
Wedging himself against the roof, Mariah took off his jacket and wrapped it around his hand and then smashed it against the glass. The fragments shattered, falling into the room as Mariah picked the pieces from the frame, put his jacket over the edge and then proudly slipped through window.
‘Perfidious Albion!’ he exclaimed as he quickly took the key from the mantel and undid the lock upon the man’s wrist. ‘I have lost the cards, a man has taken them, he’s a magician.’
Perfidious looked to the door. ‘I was kidnapped and brought here. There is a box of fortune in this place that has to be destroyed. That is all I can tell you and it is all you need to know.’
‘The Midas Box?’ Mariah asked as he twisted the pearl door handle.
‘How did you know?’
‘Otto Luger has it –
it would seem everyone knows what the man is up to …’ Mariah smiled, looking Perfidious in the eye. ‘I have to meet someone in the bar to the theatre within the hour. He’ll help us to get the cards. Now let’ s get out of this place.’
Together they climbed through the window, slid down the grey slates and ran across the roof. By the high chimney that puffed grey steam from the generator was a small black door surrounded by iron railings and approached by a small flight of steps. Mariah led the way, his white shirt covered in the blood from his wound. Perfidious Albion hesitated as he walked, looking down across the roof to the crashing waves. Black clouds sped across the sky as to the east a storm gathered in the depths of the sea.
Soon they were down the steps and through the door that led into a long passageway flanked by guest rooms. At the far end a flight of stairs led to another lamp-lit corridor and eventually to the steam elevator. Mariah ran, followed by Albion, unaware of the steam elevator coming towards them.
With a sudden clunk the door slid open and Isambard Black stepped from the carriage. In his hand he carried a short cane. At the sound of approaching footsteps he twisted the handle, pulled the sword from its holder and stepped into the shadow of a doorway. He waited, unsure as to who approached but intent on defending himself.
Mariah and Albion ran on, not knowing he was there, lying in wait. Black listened as the pounding feet echoed closer.
With a sudden yell, Isambard Black leapt upon them, holding out the cane and in the half-light lashing out above their heads. ‘Away with you!’ he shouted, not knowing who or what he was shouting at.
‘Black?’ screamed Perfidious Albion as he stared up at the man. ‘Isambard Black?’
‘It can’t be – surely not – Perfidious?’ There was a surprise in his voice as if he had discovered someone long lost and was glad to remake the acquaintance. ‘Perfidious Albion? Peradventure –’