Mariah Mundi and the Ship of Fools (9 page)

‘You do not seem surprised,’ Sachnasun said to Charity.

‘Another of Zane’s marvellous inventions?’ Charity asked.

‘Every officer of the crew has one. It is remotely powered by the Zane Generator. The lamp works within a hundred yards of the ship and the light is focused through the crystal.’

‘Does the heat not burn?’ Charity asked as Sachnasun walked ahead.

‘Indeed not. It is like ice – a closely guarded secret,’ he replied.

‘And this is like a journey to the centre of the earth, Mr Sachnasun.’ Charity shivered as he spoke.

The ship grew dark and deeply grim. A labyrinth of tunnels went this way and that. Each was lined in steel and every hundred feet was a watertight door and a dim, electric light. One long corridor led to another and everywhere the unfettered churning of the Zane Generator resounded. It whirred and moaned as if in constant anguish as Sachnasun and Charity searched the myriad of stores and rooms that led from each black, dripping avenue. Each room was lit by a dingy electric light that gave off a meagre glow. The air was thick with sulphur
and vaporous oil. Every surface was glazed with a fine mist of viscous fluid. They saw no one and heard nothing but the generator and the thrusting of the steam jets that propelled the
Triton
through the sea.

‘Indeed, Mr Ellerby said we are looking for something of importance?’ asked Sachnasun as they searched another empty room.

‘Property of the Marquis DeFeaux,’ Charity replied.

‘I can’t imagine someone so rich being so forgetful with their property,’ Sachnasun said as he turned down the power of the ring so that it was no more than a bright glow.

‘Where do these go to?’ Charity asked as they came to a criss-cross of tunnels.

‘The right is to the far side of the ship and the engine room, the left to the outer bulkhead. The ship is designed not to sink,’ Sachnasun said. He pointed to a small glass sphere punctured with three holes and containing what Charity thought to be a lump of cheese. ‘If the detonator is submerged in water then all the doors will automatically lock. Water will get no further and the ship will stay afloat. This is my job, to maintain the defences.’

‘Another of Lorenzo’s inventions?’ Charity asked as Sachnasun reached up and checked the alarm.

‘My invention, Captain Charity, and one I discovered by accident.’ Then Sachnasun stopped speaking and pointed back down the tunnel to a shaft of light and a thin black shadow. It appeared to move in and out of the light, but no one could be seen.

‘Have we been followed?’ asked Charity as he turned off the carbide lamp.

‘It is best that I go to check. Stay here and I will come back for you, it is the only way we will find who plays games with us,’ said Sachnasun, and he followed the tunnel towards the light.

Charity waited until Sachnasun was out of sight. He could hear the churning of the engine and the pounding of the water against the riveted steel plates. The cold sea dripped from above his head.

It was then that he heard a voice from far behind him. In the half-light he could see a figure the size of a small child standing to one side of the watertight door. It was too far away to make out any features.

‘Help me – she is trapped inside!’ The voice echoed eerily. Then the boy stepped through the door and ran away.

Charity followed at a pace. Soon he could see the boy ahead of him running in the shadows. He stopped momentarily to turn on the carbide lamp. When he looked up, the child had gone.

‘I’m here. Help me!’ came the voice of a woman from a nearby vault.

The voice came again, this time from behind the locked door of a room to his left. Charity spun the wheel handle and unlocked the door. He pulled open the seal and looked inside, shining the lamp. There in the corner was the slumped figure of a woman. Her head was pushed to the floor and her dress torn.

Charity stepped inside the room. He didn’t hear the door begin to close quietly behind him.

He knelt beside the woman and took hold of her lifeless hand.

‘A doll – a mannequin,’ he said to himself as the door thudded shut. Charity realised he was now trapped. A spigot turned above his head as he heard the dull twisting of a valve outside. Very slowly, drips of hot bilge water began to flood into the vault. Within a minute the floor was covered in a large pool of oil-smeared water.

‘A
ND now – directly from the Orient – a man who will amaze and astound – the Great Shanjing and his assistant, Charlemagne!’ The ringmaster cracked his long whip and the lights of the Oceanic Theatre dimmed.

Mariah snuggled back into his seat. It itched through his coat, as if an army of biting fleas crawled at his back.

‘What do you think it is?’ Biba asked as a roll of the drums shuddered from the orchestra pit.

He shrugged his shoulders. A tall man walked on stage carrying a large and very lifelike doll.

‘Ventriloquist,’ Mariah muttered under his breath as a man came and stood in the aisle next to his seat.

‘I welcome you into a world of magic,’ said the man on stage. ‘The world of the Mighty Shanjing where not even the thoughts of your mind are safe. I think I will have a volunteer from the audience – you, sir …’ He pointed to a rotund Frenchman in the front row. ‘If you would be so kind …’

The Frenchman reluctantly stepped on to the stage with the encouragement of the audience. Charlemagne asked the man his name and then looked to the puppet Shanjing, who
appeared to be asleep. With a mechanical tremor, the mannequin came to life. It reached inside the front of its silk coat and pulled out a long mahogany pipe and began to smoke. The puppet studied the Frenchman and then gave a leathery smile.

‘I take it that you will do everything I ask?’ it said. Its head juddered as if it were on a spring.

The man nodded and laughed. He kept turning to his wife and smiling, as if pleased that his life should be lived in the limelight.

‘Not everything, Shanjing?’ Charlemagne asked as if in a Florentine conversation with the doll.

‘I insist – everything,’ Shanjing replied as he gave a puff on his pipe and blew deep blue smoke across the stage. The smoke enveloped the man as if he were in a cloud.

The man dropped his head, mesmerised. His jowls wobbled and moustache sagged. Charlemagne gave a surprised gasp and then went to a small table set at the side of the stage. With his free left hand he picked up a long-barrelled pistol.

All the while, Shanjing ranted. ‘This man will smoke the pipe of Shanjing. On my command he will raise his head and my assistant will fire the pistol and blow the pipe from his mouth. He will be blindfolded – though even with the use of his eyes he could cause fatal injury …’

The man never moved as Charlemagne took the pipe from Shanjing’s mouth. Placing it in the man’s teeth, Charlemagne took ten deliberate steps backwards, stopped, put the gun in his pocket and then put a blindfold over his eyes.

‘Raise your head,’ the puppet said to the man. ‘I will tell Charlemagne when to fire,’ Shanjing shouted as Charlemagne took the gun from his pocket, raised the pistol towards the man’s head and took aim. ‘One.. two … three … Fire!’

The gun exploded and the pipe shattered in a cloud of thick blue smoke. The Frenchman vanished before their eyes. The
crowd was silent and then everyone stood to their feet and applauded.

A woman in the front row began to scream.

‘My huzbend, where is my huzbend?’ she pleaded as laughter began to explode in the theatre.

‘We have done the world a service,’ giggled Shanjing, ‘and rid the world of a troublesome Frenchman. Surely, Madame, the thought
had
crossed your mind? What you would have done with poison … I have done with magic. Consider it a crime of passion.’

The woman screamed even louder as the crowd cheered. She attempted to bite Charlemagne on the leg and drag him from the stage with her teeth.

‘Geeve me bark my huzbend,’ she snarled like a demented poodle.

‘Very well, Madame,’ Shanjing replied as another small explosion blew the woman back to her seat and into the lap of her naked husband, who had appeared in a cloud of smoke as quickly as he had disappeared.

‘Arrgh, whet hev they durn to yew?’ she demanded to know from her subdued spouse.

‘You didn’t say you wanted him to be awake as well,’ sniggered Shanjing as the crowd roared with laughter. ‘Very well, Charlemagne – snap your fingers and revive the man.’

Charlemagne did as he was told. The man opened his eyes and looked at his wife. He could see the tear-wet streams of make-up smeared across her face and for a moment wondered at her distress. And then he realised he was naked but for a large hat decorated with tropical fruit. The man jumped to his feet and ran towards the exit, followed by his frantic wife, who was trying to give him decency with a large top hat that she had stolen from a man in the next row.

‘And there you have it,’ Charlemagne bellowed as the crowd
stomped their feet in time with the crescendo of music. ‘The world of the Mighty Shanjing … I can promise more tomorrow and every night of our voyage,’ he said as Shanjing flopped like a lifeless doll in his arms and hung motionless.

Mariah and Biba applauded with delight as the curtain slipped across the stage and the lights grew brighter. All around them people laughed – all except the man who stood nearby.

‘My father found Charlemagne working on Wigan pier,’ said Biba. ‘He is the finest ventriloquist in the world.’

‘The doll seems so lifelike, almost real,’ Mariah replied.

‘Don’t ever call Shanjing a doll,’ she said with surprise. ‘Charlemagne insists he is a god.’

‘Made of leather and wood with strings that pull his words,’ Mariah replied.

‘Well, Mariah Mundi – if you are so clever then we shall go and see him for ourselves.’

‘Mariah Mundi?’ asked the man stood by them. ‘Are you Mariah Mundi?’

Mariah turned to see who spoke to him. There in the aisle was a man in a plain suit. He looked distinctly out of place and too ordinary to be a guest on such a ship as the
Triton
. The man smiled at Mariah and held out a piece of folded paper. His fingers were grubby, as if they were coated in oil.

‘I’m Mariah Mundi,’ he replied as the man offered the note again with a smile.

‘Max Arras,’ the man said as he handed Mariah the note. ‘I work with Jack Charity.’

‘The Bureau?’ Mariah asked, leaning forward and hoping that Biba wouldn’t hear him mention the name. ‘And you know Captain Charity?’

‘He asked me to give you the note – said something has come up and I had to find you.’ Arras took Mariah by the arm and led
him away from Biba so she could not hear. The man then went on. ‘I’m undercover – looking after the gold. Jack has told me to find you and make sure you do what it says.’

Mariah broke the wax seal and opened the note. It was written by Charity. He could tell that the ink was the same purple and red concoction of crushed beetles and borage stems that Charity always used. It smelt sweetly, even when dried on to the paper. Each letter was clear and distinct as if laboured over by a tired hand.

Mariah stepped back so Arras could not see what had been

He read the note several times before screwing up the paper in his hands.

‘Are you going?’ Arras asked him, still smiling. ‘I have to give him your reply – Bureau business.’

‘I will be there,’ Mariah replied, his mind racing. He had never heard of Max Arras and was sure that Charity would have told him. ‘You work for the Bureau?’

‘Last five years,’ Arras replied, shrugging the shoulders of his jacket and looking around the emptying theatre.

‘From Claridges Hotel, Room 31?’ Mariah asked.

‘Just the place,’ he replied. ‘Better be going. Keep safe, Mariah, keep safe …’

Max Arras turned and mingled with the crowds as they left the theatre. He stopped momentarily at the door and turned back and smiled.

‘He looked shifty,’ Biba said as she edged closer. ‘What did he want?’

‘I have to meet Captain Jack in two hours,’ he said as the thought resounded in his mind. ‘Captain Jack, that’s it …’

Mariah took the crumpled paper from his pocket and looked at the writing again.

‘Then we have time to meet Charlemagne and he will show us Shanjing.’ Biba giggled nervously. Mariah noticed this was something she did often, rubbing her hands together at the same time.

‘I don’t think we should – I think I need to –’ he protested, but she took his hand and dragged him towards the stage.

‘Nonsense. You need to meet Shanjing. He can tell you all sorts of things about yourself. I go to see him all the time – it’s like seeing someone who can look inside your head. Shanjing is very helpful and quite courteous.’

‘Perhaps I am quite happy not knowing,’ Mariah replied as she pulled him on.

The theatre was nearly empty. Three elderly ladies huddled around the stage door dressed in black crinoline and fur mufflers. They chatted endlessly and didn’t notice Biba and Mariah slip by. The door attendant nodded at Biba. He twitched his long white moustache and eyed them nervously at the same time.

‘Is that Mr Blake from the door of the circus?’ Mariah asked, sure that he had seen the man before.

‘It’s Mr Blake but not the one from the circus. In fact, there are four of them – all identical in every way. Quadruplets. My father likes them – he says they confuse the passengers. He puts them to work on different decks – you never know which is which.’

Biba led Mariah to a flight of stairs that connected the back of the Oceanic Theatre with the saloon lounge. The steps were narrow and steep and at one point crossed over the top of the stage before turning upwards towards the dressing rooms.
They were lit by small electric lights that shone down from oyster-shell holders fixed to the ceiling. Every few yards were doors that led off to the left and right. The corridors were all interlinked like a gigantic maze.

‘How do you know where you are going?’ Mariah asked Biba as she walked on ahead of him.

‘Below deck, the
Triton
and the
Ketos
are identical in every way. Father just had more room given for the Zane Generator. I lived on the
Ketos
for a year. I know every inch of the ship.’

‘Didn’t you get bored?’ he asked as they turned the corner of the final staircase, out of breath with the climb.

‘Bored?’ she asked as if she didn’t know what the word meant. ‘I sailed around the world and saw things I never thought possible – how could you ever be bored?’ she scoffed.

Mariah was about to reply when Biba stopped outside a small doorway and read the nameplate above it.

‘This is the place,’ she said quickly. She rapped against the door and waited for a reply.

‘Who is it?’ asked the man inside.

Biba replied in her crisp voice. The door opened and Charlemagne stood in front of them with his arms wide open as if welcoming a long-lost friend.

‘So great to see you,’ he said as he fussed about the dressing room, tidying things from the chairs so that they could sit down. ‘Was your father in the audience? I would love for him to see the show.’

‘This is Mariah,’ Biba said without being asked. ‘He’s a friend of mine and I am showing him the ship. I want him to converse with Shanjing.’

Charlemagne sighed deeply and Mariah looked down. There, by Charlemagne’s feet and pushed under the dressing table, was a coffin-shaped wooden box.

‘Shanjing is resting, my dear Biba – but I am sure we can
arrange another time for him to meet with you both and share his insights,’ he said apologetically.

‘I told Mariah that you would at least perform for us,’ she pleaded, smiling at Charlemagne.

‘He’ll do it …’ said a voice that appeared to come from below their feet.

‘Shanjing?’ Biba asked.

‘Of course it is me,’ the box replied.

Mariah looked at Charlemagne. The man’s lips didn’t move, nor was there any tremble in his neck.

‘I have brought a friend to see you – will you come out, Shanjing?’ Biba asked.

‘Only if the fleshy one will let me. Leather hands are no good for getting out of boxes,’ the voice quipped eerily.

Mariah studied Charlemagne. He seemed to look as surprised as they were that the voice spoke from the box.

‘I have never seen a ventriloquist like you before,’ Mariah said as Charlemagne slipped the catch on the wooden box and began to open the lid.

‘Neither have I,’ said the voice from the box.

Charlemagne laughed. ‘Sometimes I cannot think who is really talking to who.’

He opened the lid of the box. There, wrapped in a silk blanket, was a small man. He was perfect in every way. On his head was a black brimless cap, on each hand a leather glove and around his neck a silk scarf. Mariah stared at his face. It was like toughened leather with painted lips and black-rimmed eyes. It looked human, without possessing life. The doll was the best that Mariah had ever seen.

‘Where did you have this made?’ Mariah asked.

‘I found him. I don’t know if he was made by man or was the last thing to be created. Shanjing is one thousand years old,’ Charlemagne said as he carefully lifted the heavy mannequin
from the box. Mariah watched the doll flop from side to side and then, as if life were breathed into it, sit bolt upright and open its eyes.

‘Welcome, Shanjing. We have guests,’ Charlemagne said as he appeared to work the mechanics inside the doll.

‘Biba and … Mariah Mundi?’ the doll asked hesitantly.

‘It knows my name,’ Mariah said.

‘It?
It? It?
’ asked Shanjing in a voice that could cut cold cheese. ‘I am not an
it
, Mariah Mundi.’

‘Sorry,’ he replied, never having been told off by a ventriloquist’s dummy before. ‘I am just so surprised by you, that’s all. You know my name and yet we have never met.’

‘Everyone is an open book to me, the Great Shanjing. Did you see my performance?’ the doll asked.

‘We did, it was amazing,’ Biba said excitedly.

‘The night of the exploding Frenchman – that is what I shall call it,’ the mannequin said as its lifelike eyes flashed from side to side. ‘I amazed myself …’

‘How do you do it?’ Mariah asked Charlemagne, who appeared just to sit silently and nod at the right time in the conversation.