Read Online Mariah Mundi and the Ship of Fools by G.P. Taylor - Free Book Online Page B

horses?’ Shanjing appeared to ask, as his wooden arms flailed in his embroidered silk jacket.
    The man on the front row fell silent and tried to sink as low as he could, for fear that his secrets would be made clear to the world.
    ‘Then tell me what I had for breakfast,’ shouted another man as he struggled to keep his absinthe in his glass.
    ‘You want to know what you had for breakfast – but I will tell the world the name of the one you had breakfast with,’ Shanjing replied quickly.
    Those around the man laughed as he fell back, stunned that a doll should know of his deceit.
    It was then that the audience fell strangely quiet. Shanjing rolled his eyes and looked around the saloon. He seemed menacing, otherworldly and malevolent. It was as if he were no longer a doll dressed in gold silk but a tiny man, perfect in every way and seeing into the dark hearts of those around him.
    ‘Who would ask Shanjing a question about their life?’ Charlemagne asked. No one dared speak. Each man had too many secrets to behold. One man with a fresh scar on his cheek got to his feet to walk out of the room. Shanjing opened his eyes and stared at him.
    ‘You!’ he said. ‘Leaving because you are frightened what Shanjing may know about you? Don’t worry. Police in New York will not be waiting for you.’
    The audience laughed nervously. The man stopped and put a trembling hand to his face as tears trickled over his cheek.
    ‘How did you know?’ he asked in horror. ‘Is it so clear?’
    ‘It is as plain as the scar on your face,’ Shanjing scoffed. ‘No matter what you do – the secret will follow you like a prowling tiger.’
    The man looked to the floor as all around him faces stared, wondering what secret Shanjing had discovered.
    ‘Who told you?’ the man demanded. ‘I have told no one.’
    ‘You have told yourself every night as you have looked in the mirror. Pity him – at least I have a face … Isn’t that what you say?’ Shanjing asked, his Mandarin voice shaking as he spoke.
    ‘Then you know too much,’ the man said as he pushed his way through the silent crowd and left the saloon.
    ‘I have a question,’ Charity asked from the back of the room to break the silence. ‘Who will win the race, the Triton or the Ketos ?’
    ‘Rather you should ask, Captain, will the race be completed?’ said Shanjing melancholically. ‘There are many miles of sea and the ice flows from the north like a dagger. The winds will rage and waters ravage. So do not be complacent. I look for the day when my feet touch dry land again.’
    ‘Your feet don’t even touch the floor,’ shouted an absinthe-tongued young man who was standing by the red velvet curtains.
    ‘And your heart will not beat after you celebrate your birth again … Go now before it is too late, before you all die … Go quickly. Death comes to kill you all.’ Shanjing began to rant as he spoke curses in Mandarin.
    Charlemagne held the mannequin as if it were a sentient creature. Then with one hand he smothered its mouth whilst with the other he held the struggling doll close to him as he ran from the stage.
    The gathering looked ominously at each other. It was as if they did not want to believe what had been said. Quickly, the rotund impresario pushed the dancers back on the stage. The small orchestra played even faster than before. Waiters in white jackets hurried around the tables, filling each jug with fresh absinthe.
    Charlemagne vanished through the curtains that hid the doorway at the side of the stage. Charity followed him closely. The man ran ahead, pushing aside a waiting magician and sending a sleeve of pigeons into the air. In an instant he was out of sight. To one side of the passageway was a narrow doorway. Charity stopped. He could hear voices arguing beyond the door.
    ‘You said too much,’ muttered Charlemagne.
    ‘I can only speak of the visions I have,’ Shanjing replied, his voice smothered.
    ‘Then tell them things that will make