Mariah Mundi by G.P. Taylor Page B

feet, folded the handkerchief back into his pocket and brushed several flecks of shining dust from his coat sleeves. ‘Now remember, five pounds. I am in room three-six-five.’ He stopped and looked at her quizzically. ‘How did you know my name?’
    ‘You’re a guest, here until March – Mister Luger told all the staff.’
    ‘Are you sure it was Luger who told you who I was?’
    ‘Who else?’ Sacha asked with her best, innocent smile.
    ‘Is she bothering you?’ came the sharp voice of Bizmillah from the doorway behind them. ‘You’ve work to do and talking with guests isn’t part of that, Sacha.’ He spoke sternly as he ambled towards them, gripping his black cane with its silver tip. ‘I will see the gentleman out of the theatre. They can be very dangerous places late at night and we wouldn’t want an accident to befall you, would we?’ Bizmillah gestured with a quick nod for Sacha to go as he turned to escort Isambard Black to the door.
    ‘She was only –’ Black sprung to her defence.
    ‘And now that only is finished and she will return to her work,’ Bizmillah said slowly as he walked him to the door. ‘Get Mariah to feed the doves before he turns in and load the cannon … and polish the swords. Then you can finish for the night,’ he barked as he walked away, pulling Black by the sleeve.
    Mariah slid from behind the curtain as Bizmillah and Isambard Black left the theatre. He jumped from the stage and ran across the back of every row of seats, jumping like a gazelle until he reached Sacha.
    ‘Quickly,’ he said anxiously, as if he had something of great urgency to share with her. ‘We have to go back to the tower, to my room, I have something you must see.’
    ‘But Bizmillah said –’ Sacha protested.
    ‘We’ll come back later and do it then, he never said when we had to do the work. Those pigeons can’t fly, they’ve eaten so much, and we’ve cleaned and cleaned all day … Please?’
    ‘ Then , we come back?’ she insisted as she looked at the clock that ticked away under the balcony. ‘One hour – promise?’
    The steam elevator rattled to the top floor of the hotel. In the far corner from where they stood was a discarded umbrella with a white bone handle cut into the shape of a swan’s head. It had been tightly wrapped; the fastening strap twisted around the shiny black material several times, and then was secured in a small knot.
    ‘Always wanted one of those,’ Mariah said as he picked the umbrella from the corner of the cage and began to pluck at the tight knot. ‘My father had one just the same, took it out even when it wasn’t raining.’
    The elevator rattled violently as it began to slow down. Mariah gripped the brass handrail that circled the cage, and with every inch that the steam ram pushed them they jerked and shook. Then the shaft became filled with gushing steam that filled the cage, making it difficult for Mariah to see where Sacha was standing.
    ‘I don’t think it’s going to make it. They turn off the steam and let the boiler cool. I was once stuck for hours.’ Sacha’s words faded as the elevator shuddered to a complete halt, the gas lantern dimming to a soft glow that could hardly fill the carriage. ‘Open the gate, Mariah. We could have made the top floor.’
    Mariah hung the umbrella over his arm and slid the heavy gate to one side. The steam elevator had stopped a floor below the tower. He looked into the long corridor, then turned to Sacha as he pointed to the door. ‘Three … six … five …’ he said quietly. ‘Isambard Black.’
    Mariah stepped from the lift and listened at the door. Therewas no sound: all was quiet. In the centre of the door was a brass plate that could be slid from one side to the other.
    ‘Out,’ Mariah said softly as he read the sign. ‘It says he’s out.’
    The sound of footsteps clattered from the stairway by the side of the elevator.
    ‘Hide,’ Sacha murmured, as she pulled open a small cupboard door at