Mariah Mundi and the Ghost Diamonds (2 page)

‘You there?’ he asked impatiently as he pulled the glove tighter against his hand. ‘Stop messing with me, Sacha. This isn’t hide-and-seek.’

Mariah stopped and listened. He was sure that somewhere very near Sacha was hiding from him in some strange game. She had done this before and thought it fun; it was part of her character to hide and then appear with a smile on her face.

There was a loud crack – it happened without warning. Suddenly, from the gloom, a stack of fishing pots fell to the ground, blocking the door to the alley. A rat jumped from the ground, leapt on Mariah’s shoulder and then off into the darkness. Mariah turned as Sacha was thrust from her hiding place. She fell forwards as she stumbled in panic.

‘Run! Run!’ she screamed just as Mariah fell against another stack of mouldy pots.

There was a slither of metal on metal; its sharpness grated as a sword was drawn. In the glimmer, Mariah saw the flash of a long blade and a dark figure in the shadows. A gloved hand hit out, smashing him in the chest and knocking him to the ground. Sacha leapt over him to make her escape.

‘Get out!’ Mariah shouted to her as he jumped to his feet.

The blade slashed, just missing his face and striking a hail of sparks against the wall. The dark figure stepped forward; its face was disguised by the mournful grimace of a gold theatrical mask, tied to the head with a long, bloodied rag. The man wore a long black coat, tightly wrapped about him. It glistened with beads of silver liquid as if he had spilt mercury upon it. In that moment, Mariah saw the eyes of his attacker staring coldly at him. They were blank and unblinking. It was then that he realised that the eyelids had been burnt from the face and the

villain’s eyes were set in a wrinkled mess of horrific scars tinged with gold.

Seeing the attacker lift the blade again to strike, Mariah grabbed a lobster pot from the ground and held it like a shield. The blow came once more and sliced through the weave of the net stretched across the bent spars of wood, narrowly missing Mariah’s face. Mariah quickly threw the pot with all his strength as he looked for a way of escape. The attacker stepped back as the net cage struck him on the shoulder.

‘Damn you, boy!’ the voice of the man said as if in pain. ‘I’ll run you through!’

There was something familiar in the man’s voice. It was as if Mariah had heard it before.

‘Try me,’ Mariah said coldly. All emotion drained from him as his throat dried quickly.

The man struck again and again. With each blow Mariah jumped out of his way as the sparking steel crashed against the wall of the yard. Another blow severed several thick strands of seaweed above Mariah’s head and smashed through the narrow fall pipe that came down from the roof. The man let out a gasp, as if he was tiring and out of breath. He stood panting. He stared at Mariah through red, bloodied eyes that appeared to glow in the faint glimmer of the gas lamp.

‘Someone else … has to … die,’ the man panted as he held his chest with his gloved hand. ‘It should have been the girl – but you’ll have to do…’

‘Have to hide behind that mask, do you?’ Mariah said as he edged his way towards the broken pipe near his feet. ‘Take it off and then you can kill me. I have to see your face before I die.’

‘If it were so simple – but what hides my face is but part of my flesh, a divine joke, retribution for a past life.’ The man gurgled his reply in a deep, gravelled voice.

‘Then I shall not die,’ Mariah said as he quickly grabbed the

metal fall pipe and pulled it from the wall. There was a crunch as the metal tore away from the stone wall. He twisted and spun, swirling the pipe as if it were a long bludgeon.

The man lashed out time and again with his sword. Mariah parried the blows one by one. The man fell back into the deep shadows. Mariah struck a blow, not knowing where it would land, and the man gasped in pain. The dull thump of metal on metal rang out like a dampened bell. Mariah struck into the darkness again and again. The metal pipe thudded as the man growled in anger.

Then came a sudden, sharp, snapping punch that leapt out of the shadows and struck Mariah in the face. He felt his legs buckle beneath him. The sound of the world deadened and the night grew even darker. From far away he heard what he thought was the shrill call of a police whistle. It echoed through the streets nearby. Soon it faded into the enveloping darkness that numbed his fingers and wrapped itself around him.

As his memory of the world faded, Mariah could feel himself being dragged slowly along the wet ground and his arms and legs being pulled uncomfortably. He was aware of someone tearing at the collar of his shirt and ripping at the fabric with a cold hand. The sound of a button that had popped from his coat and danced upon the stone flags came again and again. Mariah thought that he could hear the man muttering in some strange tongue words he could not understand. It was as if he was invoking long-dead creatures to come and help him in his preparations.

Then there was nothing. No sight or sound – just deep blackness. It reminded Mariah of a dream he once had where he was locked in a room all alone. It was black as pitch, but Mariah knew there was someone hiding just out of reach. He could hear their breathing and smell the dirty scent that stenched around him.

He was unaware how much time had passed or how he had got to where he now lay. Mariah felt Sacha’s hand on his face as she lifted his head from the ground. He was aware of someone else talking and Sacha trying to speak even faster than usual. His eyes opened slowly and for the first time he could feel the throbbing of the wound to his face.

‘You’re all right, lad,’ said the deep voice of the man that cowered over him. ‘Getting Doctor Merewether – he’ll see to you.’

Mariah looked up. All he could see were the bright collar buttons of the man’s uniform shining above him.

‘Where is he?’ Mariah asked.

‘Gone,’ replied Sacha gently. ‘But you’re alive. I thought he killed you.’

‘Did you see what he looked like?’ Constable Lancing asked as he tried to lift Mariah to his feet.

‘Had a mask and a cane that became a sword,’ Mariah muttered.

‘Grabbed me in the dark and told me to be quiet,’ Sacha gabbled, her voice singing the words faster and faster.

‘Second time tonight,’ Lancing murmured in reply as he thought aloud. ‘The other lass wasn’t as lucky – found her on Silver Street, what was left of her.’

I
N
the lobby of the Prince Regent Hotel, a large circular fan in the shape of an ornate ceiling clock spun slowly around and around. From the heights of the vast gold vaulted ceiling it gently swirled waves of hot air that had been brought from the boiler far below through miles of ducting pipes. Sacha opened the door to the hotel and waited whilst Mariah went inside, holding his now swollen face.

‘Best get Captain Charity,’ she said as she disappeared amongst the crowds of people all dressed in their finery and awaiting the start of the midnight ball.

Mariah waited and then took three paces to a large leather armchair hidden from view by a gigantic aspidistra plant. He eased himself into the seat and sighed. He thought of how the Prince Regent had changed since the time of Gormenberg. As he watched the flames in the hearth of the large stone fireplace opposite, he listened to the chamber music echoing along the vast corridors from the gilded concert hall that overlooked the bay.

Since Captain Jack Charity had bought the hotel for a song, it had become the place to be seen by the best in society. Kings 

and princes, politicians and actors had swarmed from across Europe to spend at least one night at the Prince Regent Hotel. They had sampled the delights of the mud baths, the hot bubble spas and of course the galvanised bathing machine. Some had even taken to having their bodies wrapped in seaweed. They were then heated gently until the weed shrank tightly. Occasionally even the most vigorous of men would scream – but as this was all in the cause of good health, their complaints didn’t last for long.

It was as if the changes had been meant to be, the working out of some natural destiny. Bizmillah the magician had left the Prince Regent on the night Gormenberg had been drowned at sea, and the hotel was now in the hands of the man who had once been the friend of Mariah’s father and who had become Mariah’s godfather. There would be no more of Bizmillah’s magical tricks involving the illusion of cutting people in half. This was now left to Mariah, who had been given the task of performing each night in the grand theatre. His performance had been a great success. Rabbits had miraculously appeared from hats. Pigeons had materialised from thin air and two white ferrets had been trained to fight in his trousers. Giant puppets would dance on invisible strings, each one made in the image of Mariah. They would fight and dance, spinning until they disappeared, and Mariah himself would then appear, forced through the air by a gigantic steam ramrod that would vanish without being seen.

His most spectacular illusion was that of the sub-aqua escape. Sacha would tie him in chains and lock them with brass fetter locks and then, with a bag over his head, Mariah would be submerged in a glass tank. Time and again he would escape drowning and appear unharmed before the watching eyes.

All was well. The bones of Otto Luger that Mariah had found in the cellar had been neatly packed in to a silk blanket,

placed in a small oak chest and buried in a quiet corner of the churchyard. Mariah remembered that it had rained that day. Water had dripped relentlessly from the bare branches of the oak trees. Captain Jack and Mariah had been the only mourners apart from Mr Mapleton, the shrew-like clerk from Dunlop, Fraser and Jenvey, solicitors to the late Otto Luger.

Mariah had been unable to take his eyes from Mapleton. He had twitched with every word he spoke and sniffed at the end of every sentence. A forest of hairs seemed to grow from the tip of his nose and hold the clerk’s small, round spectacles in place. Whilst the box of dry bones was lowered into the deep hole, Mapleton had rubbed his hands and clicked his shrewish fingers nervously.

‘Don’t like death – all seems a bit too final,’ he had squeaked. ‘No one seems to be able to come back and tell us what it is like.’

‘One man did and
I
trust all he says,’ Captain Charity had said hurriedly as he patted Mariah on the back and turned to walk away.

Mariah had followed, leaving Mapleton at the graveside with his dark thoughts. It had been then that he had seen Grimm and Grendel, the two private detectives who had worked for Gormenberg. They had tried to hide beside a single tall oak. They looked out of place at the funeral. Grendel had a pink scarf that nearly touched the floor wrapped around his neck, whilst Grimm had just blankly stared at the moping Mapleton. Mariah had later asked Charity what they had been doing. Charity had laughed and told him they would do themselves more harm than anyone else, and from that day they had never been mentioned again.

It was as Mariah daydreamed that someone caught his eye. Through the stems of the aspidistra, he saw a man in full military uniform warming himself by the fireplace. He was tall and

elegant, with a large moustache that had been waxed into the shape of an eagle’s wings. In one hand he carried a black hat laced with the feathers of a tropical bird. Twisted gold brocades fell from the shoulders of his uniform and three gold stars emblazoned each lapel.

But it was not the manner of his dress that caught Mariah’s attention. At first he wasn’t sure, but as he looked, he realised that the thumb on the man’s left hand looked as if it were made of solid gold.

‘How?’ he asked himself, as he tried to get a better view without being seen.

The man appeared to be waiting for someone, and tapped the golden thumb against the rim of his hat. It glistened in the light from the row of gas filaments set in the crystal holders above the fireplace. He then paced up and down, taking several steps each time and with great military precision turning and pacing again.

Mariah sank back in the shadows so as not to be seen and hoped that Sacha would not return with Captain Charity until he had seen what the man with the golden thumb was doing and who he would meet. From far away, he heard the Chinese battle gong as it tremored through the hotel. It called everyone to the midnight ball and the vast buffet of ice carvings, plated meat and swirled curd and chocolate.

The man didn’t move, but nervously looked this way and that and glared at the fob watch that he pulled from his pocket.

‘Baron Hoetzendorf – I am sorry for my lateness,’ Captain Charity said as he approached and held out his hand in welcome. ‘There is a matter of importance to which I have to attend – perhaps we could meet after the ball?’

‘It should be now, Captain,’ the Baron insisted. ‘I have waited long enough and tomorrow the ship will be here.’

‘This isn’t the time or place, my dear Baron. Later. I promise.’

Mariah saw Charity put his finger to his lips as if to signal to the Baron to say no more. Then, without speaking, he picked three strands of fallen hair from the Baron’s shoulder and brushed the jacket with his hand.

‘Very well, later it will have to be.’

The Baron put on his hat and briskly swaggered towards the midnight ball and the clanging of the battle gong. Captain Jack Charity turned slowly and looked in to the shadows. It was as if he knew Mariah had been there all along.

‘Sacha tells me you’re hurt,’ he said, stepping towards the armchair.

‘Walking wounded,’ Mariah replied as he leant forward to show Charity the extent of the bruise that ran down the side of his face.

‘You’d both better stay in the hotel until the lunatic is caught. I fear there is more to this than just the random attack of a madman.’

‘They said he killed a girl on Silver Street. He was seen and they gave chase but he leapt the wall of a house and onto the roof as if he had fire on his heels,’ Mariah said excitedly.

‘They’ll be saying it’s the work of Spring-Heeled Jack – that or the devil himself. Did you get a look at him?’ Charity asked.

‘He was wearing a mask, just like the one on the wall in the theatre. It was tied to his face with a tattered bit of cloth.’

‘Anything else?’

‘He smelt … He smelt sweetly of something like gunpowder and lamp oil mixed with perfume – and he was quick with his fist.’

‘You’re getting old, Mariah. Slowing down so even old men get you with a punch,’ Charity joked, laughing.

‘Not so old that I couldn’t give you a good hiding,’ Mariah said. ‘One thing. The man you were speaking to – who was he?’

‘Why do you ask?’ Charity said.

‘Nothing … He just looked … nervous.’

‘He’s Austrian, and says he is recovering from an accident and has come here to rest,’ Charity replied. ‘Yet I have never seen the man rest for a minute. This morning he sent a message that he required to speak to me before midnight.’

‘Seems –’ Mariah stopped what he was about to say.

‘You could do me one thing, Mariah, if you are feeling well enough?’ Charity asked.

‘What?’

‘You could keep an eye on him for me. You and Sacha. Just make sure he doesn’t get into any
difficulties
… He’ll be at the midnight ball – watch him from the balcony and let me know who he speaks to.’

‘Does this have anything to do with the Bureau of Antiquities?’ Mariah asked as he felt the badge in his pocket.

‘Possibly, but it is best we don’t mention it just yet. A ship arrives tomorrow – the
Irenzee
. It is the private yacht of a rich American. Since the news of its arrival we have had too many strangers from all parts of the world book in as guests. I fear a meeting is to take place, a gathering of importance, and we need to find out why.’

‘So it
is
the business of the Bureau,’ Mariah replied.

‘It is too much of a coincidence for an Austrian general, a Russian commander, an American Ambassador and an emissary from the Emperor of Japan all to be
so
unwell that they have to take refuge in a hotel beside the sea,’ Charity said as he rubbed his chin and stared at the flames. ‘The waters of the spa may be appealing and the galvanised bathing machine may work wonders, but I fear there is another reason why they are here.’ Charity reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather case. ‘You may need these – you have seen them before.’

Instantly, Mariah knew what he had. There in the leather case were the divining spectacles that Grimm had once used so
well to search for them when they had escaped from the Prince Regent. Mariah knew of their power to track someone for days. He held out his hand expectantly.

‘Diving spectacles,’ he said as he took hold of them, pulled them from the snakeskin case and looked at their strange design. ‘But I’ll need something of the Baron’s if you want me to follow him – that is how they work, isn’t it?’

‘Then you may need this,’ Charity said, and he carefully showed Mariah the three strands of hair he had taken from Hoetzendorf ’s jacket. ‘Be careful, Mariah, it could all be quite innocent but I have a feeling there will soon be trouble,’ Charity whispered as he turned to walk away. ‘If anything happens let me know. And next time,
try
to duck before someone hits you …’

Mariah didn’t have time to reply. Charity was gone in an instant and vanished in the crowds of people making their way to the midnight ball. Mariah got up from the chair and stood by the fireplace. He looked at his face in the mirror and admired the bruise as if it were a trophy of war. Then, for the briefest moment, he was frozen to the spot. He couldn’t move, his arms and legs were petrified. There, in the reflection of the mirror, as if the figure was behind him, was the face of the masked man. For a fleeting second, Mariah saw the bloodshot eyes and drivelling mouth half hidden behind the golden mask of tragedy.

When he looked again, the face was gone. All he could see was the chair and the large aspidistra billowing from the brass pot. Mariah turned. His eyes searched the shadows for the faintest trace of the man. There was no one. Quickly he put on the diving spectacles and looked about the hallway. He tuned each lens with the dials on the side of the frame. The colour of the room transformed from purple to blue and then to red as the frequency changed.

In the corner of the alcove where he had been seated was the slightest trace of blue ectoplasm. It coiled like a smoking miasma. Suddenly it twisted in the air like a whisping serpent about to strike. Mariah watched as it seemed to dance to the distant music of the orchestra, and then the snake suddenly disappeared.

Mariah took the spectacles from his face and put them back into the box. Searching the alcove, he looked for a way of escape. He was sure that the face of the man had been real, that it wasn’t just his imagination. Frantically he tapped the wall for any sign of a secret door. Mariah knew the man could only have vanished so quickly from the hallway by such a device. He pushed against the plaster and ran his fingers along the low picture rail. There was nothing.

‘What you doing?’ Sacha asked as she sneaked up behind him. ‘I’ve been watching you for ages. Lost something?’

‘Someone …’ he replied in a stony voice. ‘I saw the man who attacked me. I was looking in the mirror and he was there behind me. I saw his reflection. When I turned he was gone. He couldn’t have got away, he had to hide somewhere.’

‘How could he be here?’ Sacha asked. ‘He would have been noticed.’

‘What if he’s more than a man – what if he’s a ghost or something?’ Mariah blurted his words as if in a panic as his mind raced to find an explanation.

‘Then we’ll find him – can’t be worse than fighting Gormenberg.’ Sacha froze as she spoke the words. They had come to her mouth without thought – to say such a thing was ridiculous, she thought to herself, as the vision of being captured by Miss Monica and then seeing Mariah kill her in the nitrogen tank flashed through her mind. ‘We could do it – couldn’t we?’ she said, her voice breaking with uncertainty.

‘If he’s killed once, he’ll kill again. He said to me,
Someone
 

else … has to … die.
He’d already killed the girl and wanted to do it again. It was
you
he was after, Sacha.’

She looked at Mariah and gulped back her tears. ‘He just appeared, came from nowhere. One minute I was in the alley and the next he had dragged me into the yard. He held me so tight that I couldn’t breathe – he put a stinking rag to my face – I wanted to sleep.’