Mariah Mundi and the Ship of Fools (16 page)

‘No.’ Mariah stumbled on his words. ‘I live in the north – but once lived in London.’

‘Do you like thieves?’ the man asked as he put the gun by the stove and lifted the coffee pot to fill a mug on his desk. Then he spoke again before Mariah could answer. ‘I have just stolen a million pounds from the
Triton
. Mr Pusey then stole it from me. He didn’t have the guts to kill me, so he got me drunk and locked me away. Without you, Mariah, I would still be in that brig. How can I repay you?’

‘You could put us off at the next port?’ Mariah asked.

‘Is that all you want? Don’t you want a share of the gold?’ Cartaphilus asked.

Mariah shook his head as he watched the seconds pass uncomfortably. ‘Virginia would be a fine place to be left.’

‘No parents to care for you?’ the man asked.

Mariah shook his head again. ‘Dead,’ he said softly, as if the fact had finally been accepted.

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Cartaphilus said. His eyes followed the flickering shadows cast by the oil lamp. ‘To rest in such a way would be a sufficient thing.’

‘It comes to us all,’ Mariah replied.

‘For some … but not for everyone.’ He coughed as he spoke.

Mariah was about to speak when there was a sound outside the cabin. It was as if ropes were being hauled from over the side of the ship. A door slammed shut. A man shouted.

‘Now’s the time,’ Cartaphilus whispered. He cast an eye to the clock. ‘Pusey is on night watch.’

Cartaphilus got to his feet, gun in hand, then pushed Mariah
to one side. He opened the door a fraction of an inch and peered out. The cold sea air was sucked into the room, flapping the charts that were pinned to the smoke-tainted walls.

Mariah watched as Cartaphilus opened the door even further. It was as if he knew what would happen next. He could see the shadow of a man on the deck below, outlined by the moon. Two others stood nearby. It looked as if they were about to hoist a boat over the side of the ship.

‘Thinking of leaving, Mr Pusey?’ Cartaphilus asked.

‘Captain Cartaphilus! I thought we had locked you away?’ the man asked mockingly.

‘Alive and well – no thanks to you,’ he replied as Mariah kept out of sight.

‘Then we shall have to set you adrift and hope you will be saved by Eskimos,’ he said.

Cartaphilus said nothing. He slipped the gun from behind the door. Mariah heard the click of the trigger and the explosion of the bullet.

‘Not us!’ shouted another man. ‘Pusey made us follow him.’

The gun fired again.

‘And you,’ Cartaphilus said, ‘will you follow the same way?’

‘Not me, Captain – you know that,’ the last man said.

‘Then throw them both into the sea. I have Mariah Mundi and Biba DeFeaux as guests on this ship. Snuck away in that lifeboat you picked up. She’ll be worth more than the gold.’

Cartaphilus turned to Mariah and smiled.

‘I thought you would be a man of your word,’ Mariah said to the Captain.

‘That I am, lad. I have lived so long that my word is worth nothing.’

‘R
HINOCEROS trousers?’ Charity asked as he and Vikash, continuing their search for Mariah and Biba on the
Triton
, entered the long dark room where the passengers’ luggage was stored in the depths of the ship. It was like a gigantic library. From wall to wall were avenues of cases stacked upon each other and strapped to the floor by long red cords to stop them moving as the ship rolled.

‘I know it is hard to believe, but I heard it myself,’ Vikash replied as he remembered the day when he had first met Henry Mitchell, the big game hunter.

‘But they can’t be bulletproof,’ Charity said in disbelief as he looked around at the piles of neatly stacked trunks and cases that filled the room from floor to ceiling.

‘His case should be here somewhere. I know that he is one of the greatest hunters in the world and that he always wears a pair of rhinoceros trousers. It is even said that he has a pair of pyjamas made from the same creature,’ Vikash went on, laughing to himself. ‘Of course, he is English,’ he said, as if this was an excuse for insanity.

‘Can’t understand why anyone should take part in such a
slaughter,’ Charity replied as he searched the narrow corridors between the piles of leather cases.

‘I heard that he used a machine gun mounted on the back of a carriage,’ Vikash said.

‘Mariah! Biba!’ Charity shouted, his words echoing from the high vaulted ceiling. ‘I don’t think they are here, Vikash. I am convinced they were on the lifeboat.’

‘But why would Biba do such a thing?’ Vikash asked.

‘They are both young, and foolish in a way,’ Charity replied as a fleeting shadow caught his attention. It flickered momentarily between two avenues of travel trunks and then disappeared. ‘Did you see that?’

Charity turned. It was obvious that Vikash had also seen the shadow. He signalled to Charity to keep down as he skirted around a tall stack of luggage, piled like coffins to the high roof.

‘It’s Shanjing,’ Charity whispered. ‘I know it is …’

Suddenly and without warning, the holding cords snapped. Suitcases began to fall. They rained down, crashing to the floor. Vikash was hit, just as Charity shouted out a warning. From above them, the walls of the avenue began to tumble as more and more travelling luggage fell on top of them like a landslide. There was no escape. The passageway was quickly blocked and the cases formed an impenetrable barrier. Vikash was silent, stunned and dazed, his brow cut open and bleeding.

‘Vikash,’ shouted Charity, ‘I can’t get to you.’

Charity heard laughter. It seemed to come from everywhere. It was cackling, harsh, old, the ranting of a madman.

‘Think you could find me?’ the voice asked as if it were right behind him. ‘You are such a fool.’

‘Shanjing! Shanjing!’ shouted Charity as the voice faded.

Laughter came once more. This time it was shrill and monkey-like. More cases fell, kicked down from above.

‘Such a fool, Captain Charity,’ the voice said before all was silent.

Jack Charity struggled beneath the avalanche of leather and wood. The cases were as heavy as rocks and pressed down upon him. He couldn’t see Vikash. Struggling under the weight of the baggage, Charity gasped for breath. He tugged at each case as he tried to pull it aside.

‘Charity,’ Vikash called from somewhere close by. ‘I am injured.’

‘I’m here, not but six feet away,’ Charity said as he pushed himself under the mountain of luggage and crawled towards the direction of the voice.

Charity found Vikash slumped against the wall. One of the cases had struck him on the head as it fell and Vikash had managed to crawl into a small cave of tumbled luggage. Miraculously he had not been crushed.

‘What do people put in these things?’ Vikash asked.

‘Their lives,’ Charity replied.

‘But why should Shanjing be here?’ he asked.

‘I think we found him by coincidence. Looking here for Biba was a chance of fate. Now Shanjing will have to find another hiding place,’ Charity said as he struggled to push a case out of his way.

‘No!’ screamed Vikash. ‘They will all fall. They are not safe. There must be at least three tonnes above us – we are blessed to be alive.’

‘But we will not be so if we stay in this place,’ Charity replied. ‘If we stay close to the walls and crawl through we can find a way out.’

‘And Shanjing will be long gone,’ said Vikash as he turned uncomfortably, his face bleeding.

‘We should go on – we could crawl out of here if we take care,’ Charity said. He looked about him for a way of escape.

There was no way of seeing where they were going. The fallen trunks and cases had crashed to the ground to form a labyrinth of dark, narrow passages. Some of the cases had burst open, their secrets spilled out like entrails. Charity crawled slowly and carefully, as above him the weight of the luggage creaked and groaned as if it were to soon collapse. Vikash followed, his face streaming with blood. Together they struggled a few yards until they could go no further. A large stuffed antelope that looked at Charity through its glass eye blocked their way.

‘Amazing what people bring with them on a voyage,’ Charity said as both men managed to sit upright.

‘I can see light above us,’ Vikash said as he pushed his hand through a gap between a case and a coffin-like trunk. ‘There is a way out from this place …’

Vikash pushed harder. The gap grew larger until it was the size through which he could squeeze himself. Charity followed and they both scrambled to the surface. It was as if they had escaped from the depths of a glacier. Finally Vikash pushed away the last case and sat on the top of the avalanche.

‘Do you think Shanjing got away?’ he asked.

‘The dwarf is fleet of foot and does not want to be caught – I suspect he is gone,’ Charity replied as he pushed his way through to the surface.

From where he was, Charity could see the vastness of the ship’s hold. No longer were there avenues of neatly stacked cases. Everything that had once been so neat was now scattered and broken like the crumbling rocks of a mountain. High above, the electric lights clung to the roof. Charity could see the doorway. It was clear of cases; the green exit sign flickered meagrely.

One piece of luggage caught his attention in particular. Unlike the others, it was still attached to the wall of the ship’s
hold. Charity could see that it had been strapped separately to a thick metal beam. Had the other cases not fallen, it would never have been found. In itself it was quite unremarkable. The case was made of green leather with a gold-coloured handle and even from a distance Charity could make out the owner’s name – MARKESAN.

The word brought back a terrible memory to him. He froze. A bead of cold sweat trickled across his forehead. It was as if he stared at death.

Vikash saw the look on his companion’s face.

‘What is it?’ he asked as Charity pointed as if he had seen a ghost.

‘Do we have a list of passengers?’ Charity asked anxiously as he put his hand to his mouth.

‘It can be obtained – what is it?’ he asked.

‘Oscar Markesan,’ he replied. ‘He is on this ship …’

‘There are thousands of people on this ship, Charity. Why should one more make a difference?’ Vikash asked, the name of no significance to him.

‘Because I now know who intends to blow up the ship,’ he replied.

‘But the ransom has been paid,’ said Vikash as Charity clam-bered across the ridge of suitcases towards the door.

‘Markesan doesn’t care. He will have the money and destroy the ship. That is his way.’

Charity got to the door and then began to edge his way towards Markesan’s suitcase. Once near, he heard a sound that called dread to his heart. Coming from the green crocodile-skin case was the ticking of a clock.

‘This is the bomb,’ Charity said as Vikash approached. ‘It will blow a hole in the side of the ship.’

‘The
Triton
is unsinkable. If water floods the hold the ship will still float,’ Vikash replied.

‘Markesan didn’t place it here by accident, Mr Vikash. There is an expansion joint just at this point to allow the ship to move without the steel plates of the hull bursting. If the bomb explodes, it will split the ship in two and it will sink within minutes.’

‘Then?’ asked Vikash, not knowing what to say.

‘We take the bomb and throw it overboard,’ Charity replied as he unhooked the red strap that held the case in place. ‘He didn’t work alone. It is no coincidence that the suitcase was placed here.’

‘Are you sure it is a bomb?’ Vikash said.

Charity took the case from the wall, placed it on the floor and opened the brass latches with a flick of his fingers.

‘I know Markesan’s work. He was meticulous in all things. Look at this,’ Charity said, rubbing his hand over the fine, hand-crafted leather. ‘This is the most expensive travelling case money can buy.’

With that he lifted the lid open. Inside, as if it were a work of art, was the ornate face of a striking clock. The long black hands were encased inside a glass front that sat on a brass frame filling the case. It was as intricate as it was beautiful, and it looked as though the device had been specially designed to fit in the case.

‘Magnificent,’ Vikash said as he looked over Charity’s shoulder. ‘I have never seen such a beautiful thing as this.’

‘And to think it is made for death,’ Charity replied. ‘Jacquier de Paris – 1835, if I am not mistaken. One of the finest clock-makers in the world.’

Charity looked inside. Beneath the beautiful and intricate workings was a lining of explosive. The wires from the clock were placed inside a small glass tube filled with mercury, wax and gunpowder. To one side was a crisp white envelope. It bore the words:
Captain Jack Charity – Bureau of Antiquities
.

‘It has your name,’ Vikash said as Charity lifted the envelope from the case and looked at the letter inside.

‘He knows you … knows you would find the case. What does it mean?’ Vikash asked. ‘What did you take from him?’

‘Something precious – irreplaceable,’ Charity replied.

‘But what should a man own that he would want revenge for taking it?’ asked Vikash.

‘His only son,’ Charity said. He paused before he went on. ‘No one has ever seen Markesan face to face. I followed him through Paris – or so I thought. He had some papers of the seer Nostradamus. The lost Quatrain. The Bureau wanted them. It was dark. I saw the glint of a silvered pistol. I fired, and the man fell. It was not Markesan – but his son.’

‘Something precious – like for like – but you do not have a son?’ Vikash asked.

‘He wants to kill Mariah,’ Charity said.

‘But he is not your son,’ replied Vikash.

Charity said nothing. He looked at the letter once more and then neatly folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Then, as if it had never happened, he examined the case, the clock and the explosives.

‘It will be safe to move. The mercury is quite safe,’ he said.

‘Is it set to explode?’ asked Vikash warily as he wiped the blood from his face.

‘I cannot be sure. All I can see is that if I remove the wires from the explosive then the bomb will explode. From the clock face, I presume we may have several hours. We should take it to the top deck and throw it into the sea.’

‘Could it explode if we move it?’ Vikash asked.

‘That is a chance we will have to take,’ Charity said as he closed the lid and smiled.

‘I am not convinced,’ said Vikash as he reluctantly took hold of the case and helped Charity lift it up. ‘I never thought that I would enter the next life holding a green crocodile-skin bag …’

They carried the case carefully across the room until they came to the exit door. For several minutes they followed the labyrinth of tunnels until they came to the steam elevator. They never spoke, putting all their effort into holding the case as steadily as they could. As they walked, the case ticked malignantly. Vikash felt as though he was being watched all the time. To him it was as if he was being tested and if he failed, he would vanish in an explosion of light.

‘Does Mergyn know you are the son of the Marquis?’ Charity asked as they got to the steam elevator.

‘It was never a secret from her, but she chooses to say nothing,’ he replied as he pressed the pearled call button for the elevator. ‘And the Marquis, he is at best avuncular and at worst … Well, I am perhaps a useful reminder of happier times.’

‘And your mother?’ Charity enquired as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

‘She is dead – grief broke her heart,’ Vikash replied simply and then laughed. ‘You English choose the strangest times to talk of such things. Here we are standing in the bowels of a ship, clutching a bomb powerful enough to blow us to heaven, a madman wants you dead – and you ask me of my life?’

‘It was something I desired to know and now seemed a good time,’ Charity replied as the elevator chimed its arrival.

Stepping inside they held the case as if it were a fragile small child. Both men tried to avoid the gaze of the other as the elevator rattled higher and higher. The clock ticked on and on.
Charity could feel each second pass as the hands skirted across the clock face.

The elevator stopped suddenly. The doors opened and a woman in a black ball gown stepped inside. She smiled at them both in a way that showed her wonder why two men should stand precariously holding a travelling case.

‘They had fireworks from the top deck,’ she said unsteadily in her best Tennessee drawl. ‘To think I have danced all night.’

Vikash and Charity smiled politely. It was obvious from the look on the woman’s pinched face that she would not desist until she knew what they were doing.

‘An unusual case – is it yours?’ she asked as she stared worriedly at Vikash’s blood-soaked and scarred face. ‘I enquire because I saw a man with a whole set of luggage just like that coming onto the ship and he certainly didn’t look like you.’