Free Mariah Mundi and the Ship of Fools by G.P. Taylor

them laugh,’ Charlemagne insisted.
    ‘But that will not help them – we must get from this boat before disaster comes.’ Then Shanjing fell silent.
    Charity banged on the door.
    ‘I must see you,’ he said.
    ‘I cannot see anyone,’ Charlemagne replied.
    ‘Then I will stay here until you come out,’ Charity vowed.
    ‘Very well,’ said a feeble English voice.
    Eventually the door to the small dressing room opened and Charity stepped in. Charlemagne was sitting on a red sofa by the wall. On the floor at his feet was a coffin-shaped box. The room smelt sweetly, almost sickly, like boiled almonds and seaweed.
    ‘You have quite a skill, Mr Charlemagne,’ Charity said.
    ‘It’s not Charlemagne – that’s just a name for the stage. I’m Eric Bloodstone, from Wigan,’ he muttered.
    ‘A convincing Italian accent – very Florentine. I was completely fooled,’ Charity replied.
    ‘I have had practice. I worked in Florence as a waiter for many years,’ Charlemagne said as beads of sweat trickled across his forehead.
    ‘Do you really see those things about people or are you just guessing?’ Charity asked.
    ‘Why should you want to know? If you want to see more come back tomorrow night,’ he snapped.
    ‘I am the owner of the Prince Regent Hotel, and I am always on the lookout for entertainments that will astound,’ Charity replied.
    ‘The Prince Regent – I have heard much of that place,’ Charlemagne said, his eyes lighting up with the prospect of future employment.
    ‘Then we should speak further.’ Charity turned to go but paused. ‘One thing – how did you find such an amazing creation as Shanjing?’
    ‘He found me. Sometimes I wonder who is in control of the act,’ he replied.
    ‘May I see him?’
    ‘No,’ snapped Charlemagne. ‘That would be impossible. No one has ever seen Shanjing in his box. I treat him as if he were a living person. That is the only way.’
    ‘Perhaps another time?’ Charity asked as he left the room and closed the door firmly behind him.
    ‘You treat me like a dog,’ Charity heard Shanjing’s muffled voice plead. ‘If I could escape from you I would be gone. He knows too much – he will bring misery to you.’
    ‘You would never go – you need me as much as I need you. Just be careful next time – lie if you have to and don’t frighten people.’
    Charity listened as the man spoke to himself.
    ‘Obviously quite mad,’ he whispered as he entered the saloon through the stage door.
    There was no music, no dancing – every face was pressed against the windows that overlooked the deck below.
    ‘He’s going to jump!’ shouted the impresario as he looked on. ‘He’s just a lad, why should he want to throw himself from the ship?’
    ‘That steward wants to catch hold of him,’ said a man.
    ‘He’ll drag him over with him if he does,’ said another.
    Charity pushed through the crowd until he could see from the window. There, three decks below on a gangplank over the sea, was Mariah. His long curls blew in the breeze as he held out his hands – it was as if he were following someone he trusted.
    ‘No!’ Charity shouted as he pushed against the pack and ran from the saloon.
    The entire ship seemed to be making for the place where Mariah stood. Crowds of people bustled through the corridors and blocked the exits. Charity ran on until he found a door to the outside deck. He climbed as fast as he could over a railing and caught a wire that ran from a funnel to the prow of the ship. Without hesitation, Charity leapt from the ship and slid down the wire.
    ‘Mariah!’ he shouted as he got to his feet and began to approach the boy.
    Mariah didn’t reply. He walked along the gangplank towards the sea below as if he couldn’t hear him.
    ‘Stay back!’ shouted the steward as he edged behind Mariah.
    ‘Topher?’ asked Mariah as he looked to his invisible friend. ‘Where shall we go?’
    ‘Who do you talk to?’ Charity shouted as he pushed the Steward