The Lazarus Curse

by Darren Craske

  ‘Professor North’s recent discoveries have made her name both revered and respected. She has spent the better part of three years digging in a remote excavation site in Egypt, and tonight she is going to present to us what she has unearthed.’ The Queen motioned towards the huge painting behind her. ‘The fabled crib of Rameses the Great, more commonly known as the Pharaoh’s Cradle.’ A round of stronger applause resounded around the room, and as Queen Victoria raised her hands, it instantly subsided. ‘As Queen of this great British Empire, it is my proud honour to present Professor Pollyanna North.’

  The applause roared around the Drawing Room now, as Queen Victoria took a step to her left, allowing Polly access to the lectern.

  ‘May I say a warm thank you to Her Majesty for such a flattering introduction,’ Polly began, ‘but there is another person who should be standing here upon this podium beside me – if indeed, instead of me. I speak of Aloysius Bedford, a name that most of you may not be familiar with, but I ask you to raise your glasses in a toast. To Aloysius Bedford.’ The words were repeated around the room, followed by yet more applause, and Quaint used the distraction to shuffle a little closer towards the podium. Polly thrust her champagne glass into the air, and then brought it back down onto the lectern with force, so much force that a tiny hairline crack appeared, unseen by anyone in the room. ‘It is Professor Bedford who deserves the true honour for the discovery of the Pharaoh’s Cradle, and I owe it to him to ensure that history remembers that.’

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am?’ whispered a lady-in-waiting by Polly’s side, handing her a white lace handkerchief. ‘You seem to have cut yourself.’

  ‘I have?’ Polly looked down into her glass. A drop of red liquid swirled like smoke within the champagne. She dabbed the handkerchief on her lips in an effort to stem the flow of blood, but strangely, the blood refused. ‘Sorry, I… I feel a bit—’

  Polly’s voice wavered as blood began to spill freely from her mouth showing no signs of stopping. She collapsed onto the floor in a pool of it. Someone in the crowd screamed, and en masse, the audience began to surge towards the spot where Polly lay convulsing. Faces previously decorated with cheer and excitement quickly became faces scarred with fear and horror, and no one knew what to do for the best.

  All except one.

  Quaint pushed through the crowd as they jostled for a better look. He was almost at the podium when he heard Professor Higgenthorn’s booming voice:

  ‘Move out the way, damn you! Let the Hungarian Premier through!’

  Countered by another booming voice: ‘That is not the Hungarian Premier – I am!’

  A portly man dressed in long johns and a vest, clutching a large British flag around his body like a toga, barged into the Drawing Room accompanied by royal guards. Professor Higgenthorn switched his gaze from the newcomer to Quaint as cogs in desperate need of oil turned noisily inside his head.

  ‘Impostor!’ he shouted, pointing his finger at Quaint. ‘And he’s got a gun!’

  All hell had been perfectly restrained before it chose that moment to break loose. In a second, the royal guards leapt upon Quaint, covering him in a sea of red uniforms as they dragged him down to the floor.

  ‘No!’ he roared, like a animal. ‘You don’t understand! She mustn’t touch the Queen!’ Quaint punched his fists, trying to tear himself from the guards’ grip.

  Blood vessels burst in Polly’s eyes and dark red tears rolled down her cheeks as if her blood was desperate to escape her body. Quaint watched Queen Victoria kneel by Polly’s side, dabbing with a handkerchief at the streaks of blood congregating in the corners of her mouth.

  ‘Don’t touch her!’ he yelled at the top of his voice.

  Queen Victoria halted. ‘How dare you speak to me in such a manner!’

  ‘I meant don’t touch her… Your Majesty!’ Quaint said quickly, straining against the guards. One of them reached inside his jacket and removed his revolver, holding it up like a hunting trophy.

  ‘Ma’am, he is armed – look!’

  Queen Victoria motioned to one of her ladies-in-waiting. ‘Millicent, fetch the royal physician immediately! The Professor is unwell.’ With her eyes fixed upon the conjuror, the Queen lifted the many skirts of her gown and walked down the steps of the podium. ‘Whoever you are, sir, you are obviously not the Hungarian Premier.’

  Quaint’s arms were held behind his back by two guards, and he struggled to speak.

  ‘No, ma’am, my name is Cornelius Quaint and I came here to save your life!’

  Queen Victoria raised an eyebrow. ‘And how, might I ask, did you intend to do such a thing?’

  ‘By getting Professor North as far away from you as possible!’ snapped Quaint, his anger eclipsing the pain of his arms almost being wrenched out of their sockets. ‘Her touch is deadly, Your Majesty. I swear – just look at her!’

  The Queen (and everyone else in the Drawing Room) turned from Quaint to look at Polly. She was on her back, clawing madly at the air, her eyes rolled up into the back of her skull. Somehow, by luck or intent, she turned her head to look directly at Quaint. And then she smiled, as if to say ‘You were right.’ Yet Quaint took no pleasure from it. Polly’s body seemed to compress in on itself, as though the disease was constricting her insides.

  And then she was dead.

  ‘Queen Victoria, I can explain but first things first!’ said Quaint, hurriedly. ‘Polly might be dead but what killed her is still a threat! She needs to be taken out of here immediately, or everyone that touches her will share her fate! Please, Your Majesty!’

  The Queen looked mournfully at Polly’s body. ‘Such a violent and sudden death… and she was in the prime of her life.’ And then she looked into Quaint’s eyes, seeing something that told her to trust him. ‘Guards, take the Professor down to the lower chambers and see that the door is locked. And as for you, Mr Quaint… I would have words with you.’

  Chapter XI

  The Monarch Key

  The Queen’s private courtyard was a place of solitude and contemplation, enclosed on three of its four sides by high brick wall with a circular pond set into the centre. The fluttering of wings signalled the departure of a flock of doves as they flew into the night sky. Queen Victoria seemed to almost glide across the courtyard, with a pensive Cornelius Quaint strolling by her side, his hands clasped behind his back. A few paces behind them, four royal guards followed.

  The Queen and the conjuror had already completed three circuits of the courtyard whilst Quaint explained the entirety of his tale.

  ‘Supposing that I were to believe any of what you have just told me, Mr Quaint, let us catalogue your crimes thus far tonight,’ the Queen began. ‘You have assaulted, robbed, impersonated and not to mention humiliated the Hungarian Premier – who happens to be a close personal friend of my husband’s. I understand that your intentions were honourable, and that you have certainly gone to extreme measures to procure my safety, but you have done all this in such renegade fashion that I cannot simply turn a blind eye to it. For saving my life, you have my thanks… but what I give with one hand I must take with the other. Your acts cannot go unpunished.’

  ‘The story of my life, ma’am,’ quipped Quaint.

  ‘I should not wonder,’ said the Queen. ‘So the question that I find myself asking is what am I to do with you? Lock you up and leave you to rot, or put your rather unique strengths to good use? Your repertoire of skills seems to have grown somewhat since at our last meeting.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ asked Quaint, with a frown.

  ‘I remember you,’ replied the Queen. ‘At my birthday several years ago. Albert hired you to entertain my dinner guests. You were a very talented illusionist, Mr Quaint… and judging by tonight’s performance, you still know how to command an audience.’ Queen Victoria pondered her words, and silence fell briefly between them. ‘You say this Chinaman was behind the infection of Professor North, and she was to be used as a weapon against me?’

  ‘Yes, and you need to sen
d a brigade of troops to China right away and apprehend the fiend!’ said Quaint, insistently. ‘He will not simply give up once he discovers that his plan has failed. You must bring him to justice!’

  The Queen smiled. ‘You are clearly naive to diplomatic procedures, Mr Quaint. I am the Monarch of the British Empire, and I cannot simply “send a brigade of troops” into China on your say-so. It would be perceived as an act of war! But if you could offer me proof of this plot …?’

  Quaint offered the Queen a wry smile. ‘That’s when things get a little messy, Your Majesty. The steamship containing any proof was sunk at sea to ensure that the disease did not reach dry land, and with Polly’s demise, any other evidence is now lost to us. But with respect, Your Majesty, proof or no proof we need to take action! Firstly, the disease needs to be contained, and secondly… Cho-zen Li needs to be brought to bear for his crimes!’

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Quaint!’ said the Queen, stopping suddenly – forcing Quaint to do the same. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but I give the orders around here. Yet, you are correct. This situation is a grave one. You said that the Professor and the Silver Swan’s doctor disembarked in Portugal? If what you say is true, anyone might be infected with the Eleventh Plague and not know of it. I will inform the heads of Europe’s states right away and alert them to the dangers. All ports must be closed down until we can trace anyone who may have been in contact with Professor North and isolate them.’

  ‘Excellent thinking, Your Majesty,’ complemented Quaint.

  ‘But there is another thing about all this that puzzles me,’ said the Queen. ‘Tell me, Mr Quaint, how did a circus magician end up uncovering the assassination plot of a Chinese warlord?’

  ‘I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I see,’ noted the Queen, recommencing their stroll, and Quaint had to skip ungainlily to catch up with her. ‘And I sense that you are prepared to pursue this man no matter what I say.’ Her eyes sparkled as the corners of her mouth twitched delicately. ‘I like you, Mr Quaint. I think the Empire could make good use of a man like you, and so, I have a proposition… and it would be a great honour if you would accept.’ The Queen allowed her words to mellow in the air between them, before reaching inside her robes and pulling out a long golden chain, attached to which was a nondescript brass key. ‘This is one of the so-called Monarch Keys, one of only eight in existence. I have one in my possession, and the rest have been awarded to individuals that served England well. People of outstanding achievement, you might say. Scientists, astronomers, philosophers, men of words, women of intelligence, generals and admirals – each of the present holders is a cornerstone of the Empire, someone that I rely on most heavily when the need arises.’

  Quaint tried for the life of him and failed miserably to figure out where this conversation was going, with one single question on his lips: ‘What does it unlock?’

  ‘In short… everything,’ replied the Queen. ‘Beneath the Royal Observatory in Greenwich lies a secret archive of information. Hundreds of years of accumulated knowledge, answers to all the questions that have ever been asked. Whenever the Empire is in dire need, the holders of the Monarch Keys are brought together to fathom a resolution. You do not know it, but this select group has been part of history for generations, harkening back to the grand viziers of the old age, selected by the ruling monarch of the time. The archive houses privileged information about certain events that shaped this world… and sometimes we need to look to the past to understand our future.’

  Quaint tugged at his lower lip. ‘Your Majesty, I don’t wish to sound ungrateful, but why would you choose someone like me over more… learned men?’

  ‘I have enough learned men at my disposal, Mr Quaint, I need men of action! This world, this Empire, is growing rapidly. Perhaps too rapidly. Every day our borders increase, and every day presents us with new challenges and new enemies, it seems.’

  Quaint grinned. ‘I can relate to that.’

  ‘You will comprehend all in good time, but know that once you accept this key, you accept all the responsibilities that come with it,’ said the Queen. ‘By way of thanks, I can assist you and I can equip you, I can give you all that you need to prepare for your journey to China to confront Cho-zen Li… and all I ask in return is your aid at a time of my choosing. You will be at my disposal when I have need of your… skills.’

  ‘I’m guessing that you’re not talking about putting on a magic show,’ said Quaint.

  The Queen hid glimmer of a smile. ‘And so what is your answer to be?’

  Quaint selected his words carefully, mindful of the obvious significance of the Queen’s gift, knowing that he might need all the help he could get against Cho-zen Li.

  ‘Who am I to refuse my queen?’

  ‘Splendid,’ said the Queen. ‘And now let us discuss our little problem in China. It is imperative that we deal with this warlord’s threat, yet my hands are tied. But if, say, one lone man were to take matters into his own hands and seek justice himself without my official sanction, what would be his best course of action?’

  Quaint smiled as he noticed a devious glint in the Queen’s eye that had not been there previously. ‘I should imagine that he would secure passage to China, discreetly, so as not to draw any unwanted attention. Plus, the craft would need to be fast. There is no telling what Cho-zen Li’s next move might be once he learns that you’re still alive. But it all depends on whether you want justice… or revenge?’

  ‘I want neither of those things, Mr Quaint,’ said the Queen. ‘This is a hypothetical discussion, remember? But if my wishes were to be considered, I would leave it entirely up to my agent’s discretion. Justice is preferable, revenge acceptable.’

  ‘My personal motto, Your Majesty,’ smiled Quaint.

  ‘If I were in a position to offer this man the use of my personal transportation, I should imagine that would aid his journey.’

  Quaint nodded. ‘Indeed, it would, Your Majesty. But a question has just occurred to me; what if this individual’s liberty was currently in question because of a few… shall we say minor misunderstandings with the Hungarian Premier?’

  The Queen smiled coyly, obviously rather enjoying herself talking in-between the words. ‘I am sure that the Premier’s embarrassment can be tempered with something appropriate. But I wonder where we would find an individual brave enough to risk his life for queen and country, Mr Quaint?’

  Quaint paused; not pondering the question, but the answer. ‘I think I might know just the man for the job, Your Majesty.’

  Chapter XII

  The Prophecy of Death

  The following morning at Grosvenor Park train station, Madame Destine knocked gently upon Cornelius Quaint’s office door. Although he did not respond, the fortune-teller could easily sense his emotions through the door. He was torn between his responsibilities as usual, but also strangely excited. That was surprising. Quaint was rarely excited about anything. She had no wish to dampen his spirits, but heading to China at the Queen’s behest was different than any task that he had undertaken before. If he ever needed additional motivation to put his life on the line, then a royal command was surely it. Madame Destine sighed. Did she have any hope of restraining him now? Did she have any hope before?

  ‘I’m waiting, Cornelius,’ she said, knocking again on his door.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Firstly, for you to let me in… ’

  Quaint snatched open the door. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘To offer you an apology.’

  ‘Oh, well in that case, it would be my absolute pleasure to permit you entry, Madame.’ Quaint grinned. ‘I always enjoy watching you squirm when I prove you wrong.’

  ‘Enjoy the moment whilst you can, my sweet,’ Destine began, seating herself opposite his desk. ‘Despite how foolhardy your plan seemed, I cannot take anything away from you, Cornelius. Yet one more miracle performed by the conjuror, hmm?’

  ‘Why do I sense a
“but” coming?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘But… whilst most people would be content with victory, I sense that you intend to depart on a whim once again,’ said Destine. ‘I urge you to reconsider.’

  ‘It’s hardly on a whim, Madame! You know that preventing the Queen’s death was only part of what I needed to do. I can’t leave a maniac like Cho-zen Li loose to inflict his pain on anyone else. He needs to be dealt with.’ Quaint rocked back in his chair, forcing the joints to creak. ‘You know that I have to do this, Destine. And what’s more, you knew that asking me not to was a wasted effort. So you must have something else on your mind that you wish to discuss.’

  ‘As both a clairvoyant and your companion, my sweet, there is always something on my mind,’ Madame Destine replied. ‘Whilst you were at Buckingham Palace this evening, I sat in my carriage alone. I had only just drifted off to sleep when I awoke with a start. I experienced a vision that has both worried me and perplexed me in equal measure. Usually my premonitions delight in mystifying me, but this one was as plain as day, the message clear… which means that it cannot go ignored.’

  Quaint shrugged. ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense.’

  Madame Destine took a deep breath, and played distractedly with the bracelet of charms around her wrist. Quaint knew this tactic well. She was delaying the inevitable, and as usual, he was even more determined to discover the truth.

  ‘Destine? What did you see?’ he prompted again.

  ‘It was not so much what I saw,’ answered Destine, ‘as what I felt.’

  ‘What did you feel?’

  ‘Fear,’ replied Destine. ‘More than I have ever experienced, either in my visions or in reality. I was underground… surrounded by the sounds of toil, and there was a stench of decay in the air. I think that I was in some sort of prison… and I was not alone. There was something in the darkness with me.’