Mariah Mundi and the Ghost Diamonds (14 page)

‘What was that?’ he heard Grimm ask Grendel.

‘Was nothing,’ Grendel replied as the carriage jolted from side to side.

Mariah kept silent, hoping the carriage would not be searched, hoping more that he would not be found. He pulled the tar rug over him and curled as tightly as he could in the pit of the rack. Soon the horses began to slow down as they approached the gate.

‘Who comes at this time?’ shouted the gatekeeper through a small arrow-slit in the wall.

‘Grimm and Grendel, detectives,’ shouted Grimm in reply.

‘Watch out for the dogs – they run loose and will eat a man given the chance,’ the gatekeeper said.

Mariah heard the large door open slowly, creaking on its hinges. The carriage rolled on slowly, the wheels slipping on the smooth stones that that lined the road from the outer tower across the bridge and up the steep hill to the castle keep.

The deathly procession didn’t stop. The gate closed behind them with a clatter and a long iron bar was slid across the doors.

‘Mariah Mundi will trouble us no more in this castle,’ Grendel said as the carriage struggled up the hill.

‘I have no more concern for Mariah Mundi. I need to talk to
you about something – something important,’ Grimm said tentatively to his companion. ‘I do not like the circumstances of this night.’

‘Speak plainly, Mr Grimm,’ Grendel said as Mariah listened.

‘This is not the place, nor is it the time. But we should speak soon – for I am afraid of what we shall be asked to do.’

‘What we have to do is look out for ourselves. That which does not destroy us makes us stronger – has that not always been our motto, Grimm?’

‘But I am afraid it is we who shall be destroyed. We are employed by a power that I care not at all for. Gone is the enjoyment, Mr Grendel, gone. We are detectives, we are select. But now we are henchmen for
him
– a man who wears a mask to hide his face.’

‘He pays us well,’ Grendel replied as the carriage came to a sudden halt.

‘But what shall we pay in return?’ Grimm asked as the door to the carriage opened and the cold night air gushed in like the chill of a death. ‘Is there no help for the widow’s son?’

‘It’s already too late for us, Mr Grimm. The tide has turned on our lives and the water is about our throats,’ Grendel said, sensing his companion’s hesitation. ‘We shall have to see this to the end no matter what, and when it is done we can be free of it.’

‘Having met
him
– I think we will never be free,’ Grimm said as he stepped from the carriage into the dark night.

‘Enough, enough,’ Grendel whispered so as not to be overheard. ‘We take the girl to the guard house and leave her there. We wait until her father does what is required and then let her go – what could be more simple?’

‘That would have been good enough, but now, my dear friend, things have changed. Walpole wants her dead – thrown
from the cliff and into the sea – and her father is to be killed as well,’ Grimm replied as they walked behind the coffin. ‘He called the girl a “loose end”, and I fear we too may be loose ends that need to be tied up – and it is from what height that bothers me …’

M
ARIAH
waited until the only sound he could hear was the wind whistling amongst the chimney pots and around the broken-down castle walls. Some time before, he had heard the footsteps of the men dressed as undertakers as they removed the coffin from the hearse, and he had heard too the church clock strike the third hour of the morning. Under the tar rug in the back of the mourners’ cart, Mariah huddled as tightly as he could to keep out the cold. It bit at his fingers and stopped him from thinking.

It had been his hope that the undertakers would return and the procession would leave the castle and he could escape. At any moment he thought the door to the guard house would open and the carriages would slip quietly away and into the night.

Mariah waited and waited. Then, just as he began to feel that they would never come, a door opened. He peered from under the canvas and saw four men cross the yard. They had changed from their top hats and dark coats and were now dressed in the suit of Peelers.

‘Police?’ Mariah said to himself, unable to keep the words in

his mouth. From his hiding place he could see that one had three sergeant stripes on his arm that glistened in the moonlight. None of them spoke as they got onto the hearse. With a sudden jerk the mourners’ carriage set off. He knew that he would have to wait until he was out of the gate and then he could leap for freedom and get help.

Even before he had finished the thought, the sudden, dark and terrifying realisation came to him that there was no one to help. Charity was in prison, Sacha was captured – he was alone. The carriage trundled on down the hill. Mariah heard the driver call to the gatekeeper. The brake of the hearse squealed as it was held against the hill that led down into the town. Then, without warning the mourners’ cart stopped suddenly. The driver jumped to the ground and turned the carriage. He could then hear the horses being unstrapped and led away. They were still inside the castle.

Quietly, Mariah pulled back the canvas cover and peered out. It was dark; the carriage was beside the wall of the castle. He could hear the driver talking close by. The sky was full of thick silver clouds edged in moonlight. They blew quickly from the north, tumbling as they rolled across the sky. He knew he would have to escape. The driver could return at any time and find him hiding there. Then it would be too late both for him and for Sacha.

There was laughter from the shadows. Mariah heard a door open and shut suddenly. All was then quiet. He slipped quickly from his hiding place and, keeping to the wall like a sewer rat, made his way from the gate. The hill was steep and the pathway strewn with rocks. Built into the wall, some way off was a large brick building with a slate roof. It was bleak and windowless. A single chimney blew smoke out to sea. He knew this was the guard house and that inside was Sacha.

Indescribable desires within him made him want to steal her

back right there and then. All he wanted to do was take an army and beat down the door and fight for her. He knew how she would look and what she would say and could even hear her voice in his head. They would stand back to back and fight – just as they had done before, and she would bellow in her Irish accent that he loved so much. Then they would escape and run – she a yard faster than him, running like a wild horse that would never stop.

With these thoughts flooding his mind, he stalked the walls. In a few moments Mariah stood by the guard house where it was built into the castle wall. There was a small stone privy with a flat roof. The door was shut tightly, the paint flaked from the wood by the beating of the wind. High above, under the eaves, was a solitary window lit by a candle. Mariah could see that it was a ship’s brass candlestick made in such a way that it would always keep the candle upright, even in the most violent of storms. It sat, out of place, on the window ledge, and behind it – in shadow at first, but then clearly illuminated by the candle – was Sacha. She was looking out of the window. She lifted both hands to her face and cupped her cheeks, covering her eyes for a moment. Mariah knew she was crying. It stirred the anger in his heart, which beat in his chest loud enough to burst his ears.

It was then that from nearby, Mariah could hear the mournful sound of a cello. It played and then stopped and then played again. It was as if whoever commanded the instrument gulped for breath at the end of each line of music. Still it went on, giving the night a feeling of warmth and unreality. The music came from within the guard house and could clearly be heard in the cold night air.

Mariah climbed the privy wall, onto its roof and then onto the outer wall of the castle. Far below were the harbour and the lights of the town. In the distance, he could see the Prince

Regent. It looked dark and empty, silhouetted against the sky. From the sea came a haar mist, thick and black. It ran through the streets like the fingers of a witch casting a cauldron spell. It hugged the cobbles and covered the sea, leaving the
Irenzee
like a steel island in the bay.

He had soon climbed onto the long roof of the guard house, where he rested against a warm chimney pot. Then, crawling across the slate, he made his way quietly to a solitary skylight cut into the roof.

In the room below he could see the light of the candle and the flickering of a fire. Whatever was to happen, he knew he had to get inside and find Sacha. But before he could move again, the door to the room opened and Grimm stepped inside. He carried a tray and on the tray was a solitary cup. It steamed, the hot brown liquid bubbling in the pot mug. He placed the tray upon the table by the fire and without speaking left the room.

The church clock sounded the fourth hour of the night and was echoed by the foghorn of the lighthouse that warned of the coming of the haar mist. Mariah cast a glance to the town below. The dense fog had filled every street to the rooftops and had walked every alleyway like a myriad of ghosts haunting the dark places. It was thick and impenetrable like the flank of a dark, faceless, invading army.

Below him, Sacha had gone to the table and taken the cup in both hands. Mariah looked down and saw that she held it more for the comfort of its warmth than the brown liquid she did not want to drink. He watched her for a moment, wondering how he could gain her attention without her screaming. She was still dressed in the uniform of a magician’s assistant. Her long black trousers and black jacket were dirty and creased from her confinement in the coffin. Mariah could only see Sacha – but he didn’t know if she was alone. Grendel could be keeping guard inside the room, or somewhere very near.

Sacha stared into the mirror above the fire. Mariah could see her reflection. She looked angry and cold. She shrugged her shoulders and screwed up her face, then sipped the broth. Mariah gently tapped the glass with the tip of his golden finger. Sacha didn’t move. He could see her eyes look about the room as if she wasn’t sure what she had heard. He tapped again.

Slowly and carefully, Sacha put the mug of broth on the fireplace and turned from her reflection. She looked about the room and then, just as he tapped for a third time, she looked up. Mariah gestured for her not to speak. Sacha went to the door and listened and then, taking a chair, she lifted the catch on the skylight.

‘Where did you go to?’ he asked in an angry whisper.

‘I went nowhere – I was kidnapped,’ Sacha said quietly as the wind blew into the room.

‘Give me your hand – I’ll pull you out,’ Mariah said as he reached down for her.

Sacha stood on the chair and reached upwards, taking hold of his wrist. Mariah pulled and pulled but couldn’t lift her any further.

‘It’s no use,’ he said as Sacha dangled above the chair before he let her go and she fell to the floor with a loud thud.

The sound of the cello stopped momentarily. It was as if the player had heard the thud and listened to hear if the sound might come again. Mariah thought quickly and then slipped in through the window and dropped quietly to the floor. Without speaking, he stood on the chair and slipped the catch back on the skylight and then looked about the room. It was warm and plain, with a bed by the window, a fire and a blanket box. There was a small parlour chair by the fire and an old rug. Hanging from the ceiling were coils of rope and rusted lifting blocks.

‘I have to get you out of here,’ he said desperately.

‘They’ll let me go. They have me for a while and then –’ She

stopped as the words stuck in her throat as if she didn’t want to say what her father had to do.

‘I know. It’s your father,’ Mariah replied in a whisper.

‘If you get caught here it’ll make things worse. They’ll just keep me for three more days and then I’ll be gone.’

‘For good,’ he said without thinking. ‘I heard Grimm and Grendel – they won’t let you go.’

‘But they told me – my father, he …’ She flustered her words as she looked to the floor.

‘Will turn another blind eye?’ Mariah asked impatiently.

‘It’ll be no harm – it’s just money,’ she argued.

‘They’re going to kill you and your father. I heard them talking and Grimm has been told to throw you from the cliff and then have your father killed – even if he does help them. We have to get you away from here tonight. Things have changed – Captain Jack has been arrested for murder, the Prince Regent is empty and all the guests have gone apart from Mr Zogel.’

‘Doesn’t mean they’ll kill us,’ Sacha argued in a faint whisper.

‘If Walpole is involved in all this then it is serious business, Sacha.’

‘But not to die for?’ she asked.

‘Whatever they are planning to do involves your father looking the other way. Whoever is behind this has the power to involve the police and to fit up the Captain for murder. So don’t think they won’t kill you.’

Sacha looked at the fire as the sudden import of Mariah’s words came to her.

‘We’ll not get out, Mariah,’ she said suddenly. ‘Grimm and Grendel are downstairs, and if we did get out of here then we wouldn’t get out of the castle.’

‘There’s always a way, Sacha – whatever.’

There was the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs outside

the room. They seemed to walk in time with the music from the cellist as he bowed the strings far away. Sacha looked at Mariah.

‘It’s Grimm. Hide!’ she said quickly.

Mariah hid in the blanket box by the bed. The door opened and Grimm stepped inside.

‘There’s been a slight change … of plan,’ he said, stuttering over each word. ‘Things are moving quickly and –’ He stopped speaking and sniffed the air like a water rat. ‘I can smell something …’

‘It’s the fire,’ Sacha said as she tried to yawn.

‘Not fire I can smell,’ he said as he sniffed about the room. ‘It’s the smell of the night – cold fog – grass and mischief. It’s the smell of a damp dog warming itself by the fire.’ Grimm looked wildly about the room. ‘You got someone here?’ he asked.

‘Who could I have here with the door locked and you and Grendel downstairs. My father won’t like this Mr Grimm – he knows I am here.’

‘He thinks you’re at the Towers and I don’t care what he thinks,’ Grimm said as he sniffed even more. ‘There’s someone in here – I can smell him.’

Grimm sniffed closer and closer to the large blanket box at the foot of the bed. His eyes searched for the tiniest clue that all was not right. He ran his stubby finger along the floor and then across the lid of the box.

‘Who you got hiding here?’ he asked Sacha as she took a pace towards the fire. ‘I can see from your face that you’re hiding something or someone.’

‘You’re mad, Mr Grimm – who could I hide in this room? How did they get by you?’

Grimm looked up. There, dangling from the catch of the skylight, was a small piece of fabric torn from Mariah’s coat.

Grimm looked at the chair nearby and saw footprints in the dust.

‘Doesn’t take a great detective to see that – does it?’ he asked as he pointed to the footprints. ‘Came in through the window on the roof – you must have let him in – and is now hiding in this box.’ Grimm took a pistol from the pocket of his coat and aimed it at the long, thin box. ‘Makes an ideal place to die – can just bury him in that – eh, Mariah Mundi?’

Grimm spoke as if he knew who was hiding in the blanket box – gone was the discontent from his voice.

‘There’s no one here,’ Sacha pleaded. ‘I had just opened the window to get some air – you can smell the sea.’

‘Footprints – torn cloth – the stink of fear,’ Grimm gloated. ‘Come out, boy, and let me see your face once more.’

There was no sound. Sacha stared at where she had seen Mariah hide. Grimm waited, pistol at the ready. He pulled back the hammer until it clicked, ready to fire.

‘Last chance, Mariah Mundi – last chance!’ Grimm shouted.

‘He’s got a gun – come out, Mariah!’ Sacha insisted.

Grimm kicked open the lid of the box and pointed the pistol within. The box was empty.

‘He was here,’ Grimm said as he looked about the room. ‘So why did you trick me?’

‘I never … I thought –’

‘He can’t just vanish, can he?’ Grimm asked as he turned his back to the bed.

Sacha stared in disbelief. Rising from the shadows in the corner of the room, like a spectral ghost, was Mariah. He picked the washing jug from its stand and quietly followed Grimm across the room as he walked towards Sacha. He stalked him step by step. With each pace he drew closer until he was within a distance to strike.

‘You going to tell me where he’s gone?’ Grimm asked,

unaware he was being followed. ‘Tell me or it’s going to hurt – hurt very badly,’ he said, pointing the gun at her. ‘Sadly for you, Miss Sacha, there has been a change in plan. There are powers that believe you shouldn’t live beyond this night. Get your things – we are going on a short journey.’

Grimm didn’t finish what he was about to say. As the man spoke, so Mariah struck. It was a single blow. Hard, fast and aimed to the back of Grimm’s head. There was a dull thud and then the sound of splintering pot, which exploded into a thousand shards. Grimm slumped to the floor with a dreary groan.