Mariah Mundi (18 page)

‘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 …’

T
HEY 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 theatre 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.

‘And look here,’ Mariah said pointing to some missing mortar where the new met the old. ‘I can smell the sea and feel the breeze.’ Sacha stepped forward, the candle suddenly blustering in the whistling draught that seethed through the narrow slit. ‘A way out,’ he boasted. ‘Should be easy to knock our way through and see what is on the other side.’

‘There could be nothing,’ Sacha moaned. ‘Could be full of rubble or sand.’

‘It could be a way out. It’s either this way or fighting old Pagurus,’ Mariah said earnestly as he flicked out several pieces
of damp mortar with his fingertip. ‘If I just get one brick free then the rest should follow.’

‘And the whole place fall upon our head,’ she moaned again.

‘Pagurus?’ Mariah asked. He held out his hands to mimic two large claws as if this would give steel to her decision.

Sacha handed him the candle and took the broken pick from the rubble-covered floor. ‘I’m Irish, born with a pick in my little fingers and English persecution on my back. Never give a boy a man’s work.’ Sacha smiled as she swung the short handle of the rusted iron claw and with a sudden sharp blow smashed it into the bricks. ‘There,’ she said in a satisfied voice as rubble and mortar fell to the floor. ‘That’ll be your first one out of the way.’

Mariah looked through the small hole that had appeared at waist height in the brick wall. In the light of the candle he could see several stone columns, each one supporting the floor above. He could hear the sound of the steam generator close by as it huffed and pumped faster and faster.

Sacha pulled him clear and in two swift strokes had forged a hole big enough for them to enter in. She dropped the pickaxe and wiped the dust from her hands on Mariah’s sleeve, then she struck another Lucifer.

Mariah walked ahead on the hot dry sand that covered the floor. From the meagre light he could only see a few feet ahead and it looked as if the ruins went on into the distance. Following some inner feeling, he instinctively allowed himself to be drawn in the way of the steam generator. Every other pace he looked to see if Sacha followed. There she was, an arm’s length behind, key in hand.

They threaded their way through the stone columns, the hiss of the steam calling them on and the heat reddening their faces and wetting their brows. Mariah held the melting candle above his head, hoping that the light would claw its way further
into the distance and that he would see some other light. After a short while he looked behind like he had done so many times and realised that he was alone. Sacha had gone. A sense of panic rushed through his body, setting his senses on fire and stealing his breath. He turned suddenly as a shadow chilled him, like a hand about to strike. The sound of the generator quickly turned into the breath of a beast as his wits twisted, each wheeze and exhalation becoming its grunting.

Shadows danced from the flickering candle as his eyes invented strange creatures from benign gloom. In two paces he could feel the blood drain from his heart and his lip began to quiver. In the half-light of the flickering wax candle he tried to call out Sacha’s name but all that came was a sullen murmur.

‘Sacha …’ he said again as he clawed the spittle back into his mouth and coughed to free the icy grip that had seized his throat. ‘Sacha …’

In the ruins there was complete silence. Mariah pressed himself to the wall, fearfully looking this way and that to catch some glimpse of his friend. It was then that he saw a glow many yards away. By the base of a stone column was a small fire. Hunched over the glow was a dark figure.

‘Sacha?’ he asked, hoping she would turn and smile at him and he would no longer be alone.

She turned and waved him to her with one hand. Mariah ran quickly from column to column, stopping at each before he took another pace. He saw that what at first he had thought to be a fire was an old glass lamp, full to its brim with blue-whale oil. It gave a warm light and lit her face. Sacha sat quietly looking into the gloom.

‘Why did you go?’ he asked.

‘When I struck the match I saw something. It glinted. You had gone ahead and I just had to come and see.’ In her hand she held a black leather wallet encrusted in salt. It was stuffed with
crisp five-pound notes all neatly folded. ‘I found this,’ she said as if the value mattered not. ‘And something else.’

Sacha pointed to the wall that stood four paces behind. In the deep dusk, Mariah saw the outline of a man lying in the sand, a salted top hat placed next to him. He raised the candle and cast its light upon the body. It shone against the crisp white bone skull and glistened upon the skeletal fingers.

‘He’s dead,’ Mariah said with a degree of certainty.

‘He’s certainly not well,’ Sacha mocked. ‘And more than that, he’s supposed to be running this hotel.’

Mariah didn’t ask what she meant. Sacha was already holding out a calling card in its neat silver case and a folded envelope.

‘Otto Luger,’ she said as she gave the card to Mariah. ‘I glanced at the letter – it’s to him. I think he was murdered.’

Mariah looked again at the corpse. It was picked perfectly clean. Every ounce of skin and tissue had been gnawed from the bone. The suit of fine clothes lay in a tattered pile upon the thick bones. The jaw of the skull had fallen open and the once proud head had tilted to the side. There to see were three small round holes neatly placed in the temple.

‘The knife again?’ Mariah asked, not afraid of the pile of bones. ‘Who could have done something like this?’ he asked, unable to take his eyes from the corpse, lured by its deep fascination. It was as if the skeleton had never walked, talked or had life. Lying there in the hot sand it was as hard as the stones that lay about it and as lifeless. It held no threat, only allurement. The gore had been dried or eaten or had soaked away. There was no trace of the stench of death and those bones that were visible shone as if they had been washed in egg glaze.

‘How can it be Otto Luger?’ Mariah asked.

‘I found the hat. It’s inscribed with his name and the letter too. It has to be him.’ Sacha sounded certain as she looked at the crisp piece of white paper in her hand. ‘It’s to Luger and
it’s not signed. Listen.’ Sacha began to read the missive. It was scrawled in an unsteady hand in shaky black ink. The paper was embossed with a crown and two lions, and in the murk she could make out the words
Claridges Hotel
. She coughed before she spoke. ‘
Dear Otto, something has brought dissatisfaction to my
door. I need to see you urgently. If we are to continue in our venture
then you must meet me tonight
…’ Sacha held out the note for him to see. ‘It has to be Otto Luger, and whoever is running the hotel is …’ She didn’t say another word. Mariah had gone to Otto’s carcass and lifted the hand. He carefully slipped a gold ring from its third finger and held it to the oil lamp.

‘It’s the same as Luger’s, a ring with a swan crest. A gold sovereign, wedged on his fat finger. Two the same – one on a dead man, the other on the living,’ Mariah said as he put the ring in his pocket.

‘Leave it Mariah, you can’t take from the dead.’

‘I’m sure he wanted us to find out who did this to him. When all this is over we can do what is right and give him a proper send-off. Captain Charity would see to that, I’m sure he would.’ Mariah spoke quietly as he looked at the glistening bones and wondered what he would have looked like. From the cut of the fine suit he could see that the corpse would have been the same size as Otto Luger and dressed in the same elegant style. Even the shoes bore a remarkable similarity to those that had squeaked along the corridor when Mariah had hidden away behind the aspidistra. Whoever was the owner of the Prince Regent, they had a strong resemblance in height and frame to the skeleton that now rested against its foundations. ‘We better search him for anything else,’ Mariah said as he got to his knees and rifled the pockets of the empty suit.

‘Done that,’ Sacha gasped as if she wanted to hide something from him.

‘And?’ he asked in expectation.

‘It’s this.’ She opened the palm of her hand and there, glowing like a bright full moon in a dark sky was a large cream pearl the size of a chestnut. ‘It’s a sea pearl. I found it in his pocket.’

‘You can’t take from the dead, Sacha,’ Mariah scoffed.

‘It must be worth a hundred pounds. With that and the money in the wallet it’s more than I would earn in a lifetime’

‘Enough for a man to die for at least,’ he said as he picked the pearl from her palm and held it to the light. ‘But it wouldn’t be come by honestly. Better to starve than steal your bread.’

Her face shone like the bright pearl as together they gazed upon it. In her heart she said goodbye to all that she dreamed it would have brought her. As Mariah held it in his fingers, the desire slowly left her. She felt as if she had held the answer to her meagre life in her hand, that the shackles of poverty had fallen from her. Now in her honesty she felt as if she had picked up the manacles and placed them back upon her wrists, double-bolting them to remain for life.

‘If I had sold the pearl,’ Sacha mumbled, ‘I could have left this place and never worked again.’

‘And forever had the image of that corpse dancing in your dreams to remind you of where it came from,’ Mariah said as he gave the pearl back to her. ‘Take it, change your life and see what good it would do you.’

Sacha held the pearl in her palm and felt its warmth. Holding her hand to her mouth, she squeezed it deeply into her skin.

‘A pearl of great price,’ Mariah said as he searched the floor where the body lay. ‘There must be something to tell us what happened here.

‘He was murdered,’ Sacha gasped out.

‘Well, but not for his money, all that and a pearl.’

‘For the Prince Regent?’ she asked.

‘And whatever secret this place keeps locked within its walls,’ Mariah said as the candle finally melted away in his
hand. ‘If this really is Otto Luger, then the man who masquerades in his identity is the one who did this to him. Do you think you could find this place again?’ he asked as he bent to examine the body once more.