by G. P. Taylor
‘They will have my daughter as well. Money can be replaced but Biba never – she is all I have,’ the Marquis said bitterly as he looked at his wife.
‘Marquis, Charity is right – I will go with him,’ said Casper Vikash as he fastened the buttons on his jacket, took out his pistol and checked the chamber. ‘We will find her.’
‘Order the ship to slow down – make sure it is done gradually. I fear we are being stalked from afar. Have one of your men be a lookout from the stern of the Triton. If we cannot find Biba and Mariah on board – I think I know what to do.’ Charity looked at Mergyn. He could see that she was about to cry. He put out a hand to comfort her. The Marquis stared at him sullenly. ‘I will find Biba and Mariah. I promise you, Mergyn.’
Vikash and Mariah took the steam elevator to the promenade deck. The doors opened and they were engulfed in crowds of passengers taking the night air as they walked around the ship. A human tide of sharp tuxedos and crinoline gowns pushed them onwards as they made their way towards the stern of the ship. There, they knew, would be the best place to start the search. Soon they stood beneath the upper decks looking out across the still, cold Atlantic. Charity held on to the rail and looked out to the dark horizon.
‘I know you have a plan,’ Vikash said as he stood next to him.
‘I don’t think that Mariah and Biba are still on the ship. Something inside me makes me think they got on the lifeboat to go with the gold,’ he said.
‘Why should they do that?’ Vikash asked.
‘They are young and foolish and want to change the world,’ he replied.
‘Biba would never do such a thing,’ Vikash replied as he watched the crowds of passengers chattering and walking by.
‘From what I can see it would be exactly what she would do. I see a family on the verge of breaking and a woman who spends more time with an eccentric inventor than her own husband.’
‘Never say that again,’ Vikash replied angrily. ‘That is my family – my father …’
‘But it is true. Mergyn thinks nothing of Lyon DeFeaux and he gives his life to money and more money. Surely it hasn’t always been that way?’ Charity asked.
‘You see things that are not there – they are happy together,’ Vikash said as he turned to walk with the crowds.
‘You said “father” – I heard you say “father” …’ Charity asked as he pursued him.
‘A mistake, a slip of the tongue,’ Vikash replied.
‘From you, one who always chooses his words so well?’
‘We need to find Biba,’ Casper said as he walked on.
‘I always thought you were more than just a servant, Vikash,’ Charity pursued further.
Vikash stopped and turned. His face was red with rage. He pushed Charity into a darkened doorway, slipped the pistol from his pocket and held it to his throat.
‘What do you think you know, Mr Bureau of Antiquities? Can you see what goes on in my mind? Do you see that I am thinking I should just shoot you now?’ Vikash growled.
‘I see a son who protected his father and then saved his half-sister – is that not so, Casper Vikash? You are the son of the Marquis DeFeaux?’
Vikash released his grip and put the gun back in his pocket.
‘How did you know?’ he asked.
‘I have watched the way you look at him and he at you. It is well known the Marquis worked in India thirty years ago and, I presume, that is about your age. Mergyn is much younger than him and Biba is only fifteen. I last saw Mergyn three days before she married the Marquis. A child was mentioned then and now I know it is you …’
‘Then my heart is laid bare,’ said Vikash. ‘It was impossible for the Marquis to marry my mother – even though they were in love. As you can see, my skin is different to yours.’
‘That may be so – but the heart of every man is the same,’ Charity replied.
‘Then your thoughts are not of this world. People are more frightened by my dark skin than the scars on my face,’ he said. He closed his simmering brown eyes and hoped the situation of his life would be magically transformed.
‘Then they are fools and will rot in their ignorance,’ Charity said. ‘I will keep your secret.’
‘And say nothing of Madame DeFeaux and Lorenzo Zane?’ Vikash asked suspiciously as they stepped from the doorway together.
‘That is none of my business. The Marquis invited the Bureau to protect the gold and not his marriage,’ Charity replied.
‘It would be simple for me just to kill Lorenzo Zane and then Mergyn would have to love the Marquis once more,’ Vikash said as they walked.
‘That cannot be done. Sometimes hearts are changed and desires cannot be overcome. It is the way of a fallen world,’ Charity replied.
‘Not in my world,’ said Casper Vikash. ‘There is no honour in such a way as this.’
‘I think Lorenzo may have his interest fuelled by more things other than the wife of the Marquis DeFeaux,’ Charity said as they reached the entrance to the Oceanic Theatre. ‘We should ask the Great Shanjing to see if he knows the future.’
The two men opened the theatre door. The third identical Mr Blake nodded as they stepped inside and took a seat. A herd of dancers stomped on the stage and wafted pelican wings back and forth as they tangoed. Soon, the curtain of blood-red velvet was tipped across the stage. The lights above them began to glow brightly as the show ended. Vikash and Charity waited until everyone had departed from the theatre. Three portly Americans struggled to free themselves from their seats and had to be eased from their places with the help of a one-armed juggler.
‘Will you be going?’ asked yet another of the Blake quadruplets.
‘We are here to see Charlemagne,’ Vikash said.
‘He doesn’t want any visitors and is not to be disturbed,’ Blake said. He made it clear that he now wanted both men to leave.
‘I don’t think you understand,’ Vikash replied.
‘I have orders from Mr Ellerby – no one is to see Charlemagne,’ he said as he pointed to the door.
‘I have orders from the Marquis DeFeaux,’ Vikash said as he got up from his seat and twisted the man’s hand. ‘Now do you understand?’
Mr Blake nodded, unable to speak. His eyes bulged from his head with the pain and he squeaked and twitched his long moustache.
‘Very well,’ he said eventually as Vikash eased his grip. ‘Through that door.’
Vikash let the man go and nodded for Charity to follow.
‘He didn’t want any visitors,’ Blake shouted defiantly as Vikash and Charity disappeared through the door that led backstage.
Vikash led Charity along the labyrinth of corridors that led to Charlemagne’s dressing room. They stank of sweat, grease paint and sticky-sweet tobacco. Dancers and acrobats shouted and squalled at each other in a hundred different languages. They pushed their way through the entertainers in the dim glow of the oyster-shell lamps. Even though Charity had been there before he still could not remember the way. All looked the same, all smelt the same. They turned the final corner and there was the door. It was just how Charity remembered.
Vikash knocked loudly but there was no reply. He turned the handle and opened the door. The room was in darkness. A man sat in front of a long mirror. He didn’t move. His head was in his hands and tears trickled through his fingers. Vikash turned the switch and the lamps around the mirror began to glow. There, sobbing was Charlemagne. He looked up pitifully at Vikash and Charity.
‘We’re looking for Biba DeFeaux and Mariah Mundi – have you seen them?’ Vikash asked in a voice that said he was a moment away from using force.
‘Gone, everything’s gone,’ Charlemagne mumbled drunkenly.
‘What did you say to Ellerby?’ Vikash asked.
‘Ellerby? Ellerby? I haven’t seen the man in days – he’s far too good to come down here,’ he replied as he wiped the tears from his face.
‘Did you say that you hadn’t seen Biba and Mariah?’ Charity asked.
‘For your sake I hope not,’ Charity said. ‘Did they mention to you anything of what they were doing?’
‘Not a thing. I was tired. But I did hear them arguing in the passageway when they had gone. That lad didn’t believe in Shanjing – I can tell.’
‘And where is the mannequin now?’ asked Vikash.
‘Asleep in his box, as always. Too much wine and brandy for the old leather-skin,’ Charlemagne said as he slipped from his chair. He grovelled on the floor as he tried to stand.
Vikash pushed him mercilessly to one side. He pulled open the lid of the box. It was empty.
‘Leather-skin is not here,’ he said as he looked about the room for the puppet.
Charlemagne looked up at him.
‘You know – don’t you? – you’re eyes aren’t clouded like all the others. You believe in such things – don’t you?’ he asked as he staggered to his feet and attempted to pour himself yet another drink.
‘I believe you are drunk. Where is the doll?’ Vikash asked as he took Charlemagne by the shirt and lifted him in the air until he dangled a foot from the ground.
‘He’s gone … Ran away, wouldn’t perform any more – why do you think I’m drunk?’ Charlemagne said.
‘Mannequins don’t run away – why do you lie to us?’ Charity asked.
‘He’s not a doll, you fool. Shanjing is a man. Perfect in every way – but miniature, smaller than a child. He is a prophet – a seer, a visionary. Shanjing can see the future,’ Charlemagne said as if he were the Prince of Denmark.
‘Then prophesy for us – tell us where you have hidden Biba and Mariah and we will let you go,’ Charity said as Charlemagne slumped to the floor.
‘Only Shanjing can do that and he’s gone. I am useless. All I do is hold him on my lap and see to his needs. I can’t utter a divine word to save my life.’ He fumbled for the glass as Vikash reached out to grab him.
‘Leave him, Vikash,’ Charity said. ‘I believe he tells the truth. I have heard of such a man before – but he was not called Shanjing.’
‘Do you know everything?’ Charlemagne asked as he wondered why they wanted to know so much about Shanjing. ‘What name was he given, this small man you had heard of?’
‘That I can’t recall,’ Charity said. ‘But I do know that he was similar to your Shanjing.’
‘I wish I had never met him,’ Charlemagne went on. ‘It has been a curse – who’d have thought a Chinese dwarf would ever find their way to Wigan?’
‘Does he believe Shanjing is really human?’ Casper Vikash asked.
‘But he is,’ Charlemagne protested. ‘Fully human in every way. Go, find him – see for yourself.’
‘We search for Biba DeFeaux,’ Vikash said angrily as he grabbed Charlemagne by the long strands of hair that were combed over his bald head and twisted them tightly.
‘Shanjing talked about the girl when we were alone. He said she was part of the plan – but wouldn’t tell me why,’ Charlemagne uttered in feverish pain.
‘Part of your plan?’ Vikash asked as he tightened his grip.
‘I tell you, it is not my doing. Shanjing is my master, I do what he says,’ Charlemagne muttered in pain. ‘He wants to get the girl. He was going to do it tonight but she never came. He has gone looking for her. That is the truth.’
Vikash looked at Charity and then pushed Charlemagne onto the red couch that stretched along the wall.
‘Tell your friend that we will find him,’ Charity said as he turned to leave. ‘If any harm comes to the girl then he will wish he never stepped foot on this ship – and that, my friend, will be your fate also …’
Charlemagne slumped back onto the sofa. He curled himself like a small child and sobbed. Vikash looked at him briefly and shook his head. He leant towards him and out of Charity’s sight whispered in Charlemagne’s ear.
‘Pray to whatever god you worship that nothing happens to my sister,’ Vikash said softly as if he spoke a lullaby. ‘If she is harmed in any way then I will come for you – understand?’
Charlemagne nodded and held out a shaking hand as if to beg friendship. Vikash turned and walked away.
‘Don’t judge me by what he does,’ Charlemagne shouted after him in a rapid, anxious voice.
The two men walked purposefully and ignored the shouting from the room. A small crowd had gathered in the passageway and muttered to each other as Vikash and Charity forced their way through.
‘What you done to him?’ asked the one-armed juggler as he stood in their way. ‘You can’t come down here accusing him of things.’
‘We accuse him of nothing. It is Shanjing we seek – he is a human and not a mannequin,’ Vikash said as he pushed the man to one side. The troubadours gasped that he should say such a thing. ‘It is true – ask Charlemagne, he will tell you.’
Vikash had no need to say another word. The troupe that blocked his way soon parted and scurried like mice to see Charlemagne.
Charity turned back and saw them forcing their way into his room. ‘It will be about the ship within the hour,’ he said, ‘but it will help our cause – he will have nowhere to go.’
‘You believe him?’ asked Vikash.
‘I don’t doubt what he said. I had my suspicions that all was not well. There was something about Shanjing that was too real. Just before I was trapped I saw the figure of what I thought was a small boy. Now I know that to be Shanjing – he is the true ventriloquist,’ Charity said as they descended further into the depths of the ship. ‘Where would Biba hide in such a place as this?’
‘There is a place Biba would always go when she lived on the Ketos. It was the store where the passengers’ luggage not wanted on the voyage was kept. She would look through the cases and dress in the clothes. If she were still on the ship, I’m sure that is the place she would take Mariah,’ he said.
‘Then we shall go to that place and start our search. With every hour that passes the chance of finding them dwindles,’ said Charity.
Casper Vikash led on. Charity watched him as he walked. He was tall and upright with a nimble yet muscular frame. His clothes were functional but had an air of finery that not many men could accomplish. Charity wondered as they walked how Vikash could live with the agony of such a disfigured countenance. It was obvious that he had at one time had distinguished looks. Now his face was torn with a thousand scars.
There was much about the man that intrigued Charity. Now he knew that Vikash was the son of the Marquis DeFeaux he began to understand. It also made him realise that he was the true heir to all of the fortune. The houses, ships, yachts, the castles and factories, all the great wealth that DeFeaux had built into the grandest financial empire since Napoleon, would belong to Vikash on DeFeaux’s death. All that stood in the way of the fortune was the true-born daughter – Biba.
[15]
Cartaphilus
ON board the paddle steamer Mariah looked down from his hiding place. He had pressed himself into the narrow gap between the door and the roof of the passageway. The ship was smaller than the Triton and had rolled back and forth even though the sea was calm. It made him feel sick – that and the smell of the whale oil that appeared to float in the air like a fine mist. The two men he’d heard talking had walked by without even looking up. Mariah had listened to them arguing as they disappeared from view. They were drunk, he could smell it. Their voices were tinged with anger and echoed through the passageway even when they were long gone. Mariah waited until he could hear them no more.
Dropping to the floor, he stretched out his stiff arms and shook them. The bl
ood began to circulate again and he could feel his fingers. He could see to the end of the corridor where the men had gone. It was dark and empty. The lamps were dim and their light was absorbed by the grey walls. Mariah didn’t know which way to go. Now, he regretted even more jumping into the lifeboat with Biba DeFeaux. It had seemed to be the right thing at the time – to come in search of the thieves and have them captured. He had disregarded all that Charity had told him. But now he had no plan and no way out. Mariah didn’t know how long Biba would be able to stay alone in the dark. All he wanted to do was find the deck of the ship and think of a way of escape. Biba herself would be safe. When they found out that she was a DeFeaux no one in their right mind would ever harm her – well, not without trying to gain a ransom first.
It even crossed his mind to go straight to the captain of this ship and give themselves up and hope they would not be harmed. But that was not his way and was not the way of the Bureau of Antiquities. As he shook the numbness from his fingertips he thought that he should at least try to make an escape.
The ship must have its own lifeboat, and if they put to sea they might be found. Charity had told him that two ships a day left Southampton for New York and that they kept to the same latitude to avoid the sea ice to the north. Since the explosions in Greenland, the ice had moved further south – pushing the ships with it. There was a good chance, Mariah thought, that if they could escape from the ship they would be seen.
He felt a peculiar disadvantage, searching a ship that he didn’t know. He checked the pistol in his pocket and slipped the catch forward. Then he took a deep breath and crept along the corridor towards the light by a flight of steps that led upwards. Mariah went quickly up the run of iron steps, turned at the top and then along another corridor. The smell of cabbage and cooking beetroot spilled from under the galley door in a cloud of thick steam. Next to the galley was an iron door with peeling paint that revealed the metal beneath. Swinging to and fro as the ship moved, never quite closing, there was a small hatch to look in through. The door was bolted from the outside and in faded black paint had the word Brig painted above the hatch.