The Eleventh Plague
Darren Craske
To my smiley little monkey
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
THE STORY SO FAR…
CHAPTER I The Eager Pupil
CHAPTER II The Fond Farewell
CHAPTER III The Unfriendly Negotiations
CHAPTER IV The Breadcrumbs
CHAPTER V The Two Birds and the Stone
CHAPTER VI The Parting Shot
CHAPTER VII The Terminal Introduction
CHAPTER VIII The Cruel Mistress
CHAPTER IX The First Attempt
CHAPTER X The Second Shot
CHAPTER XI The Third Crack
CHAPTER XII The Awkward Silence
CHAPTER XIII The Deadly Delivery
CHAPTER XIV The Two-Faced Man
CHAPTER XV The Astronomer’s Timepiece
CHAPTER XVI The Vulture and the Viper
CHAPTER XVII The Familiar Strangers
CHAPTER XVIII The Pain in the Backside
CHAPTER XIX The Bizarre Bazaar
CHAPTER XX The Silent Echo
CHAPTER XXI The Comfortable Prison
CHAPTER XXII The Valley of Death’s Shadows
CHAPTER XXIII The Viper’s Venom
CHAPTER XXIV The Clouded Truth
CHAPTER XXV The Second Letter
CHAPTER XXVI The Scarab’s Nest
CHAPTER XXVII The Footsteps of History
CHAPTER XXVIII The Kindred Spirits
CHAPTER XXIX The Pull of History
CHAPTER XXX The Distressing Damsel
CHAPTER XXXI The Diversionary Tactic
CHAPTER XXXII The Intriguing Development
CHAPTER XXXIII The Hunted Quarry
CHAPTER XXXIV The Death Downstream
CHAPTER XXXV The Haunting Past
CHAPTER XXXVI The Council of Elders
CHAPTER XXXVII The Cold Shiver
CHAPTER XXXVIII The Unburied Secret
CHAPTER XXXIX The Persistent Past
CHAPTER XL The Discarded Debris
CHAPTER XLI The Rat Trap
CHAPTER XLII The Baited Hook
CHAPTER XLIII The Cog in the Machine
CHAPTER XLIV The Awkward Questions
CHAPTER XLV The Calling of Destiny
CHAPTER XLVI The Change in Luck
CHAPTER XLVII The Shot in the Dark
CHAPTER XLVIII The Shifting Sands
CHAPTER XLIX The Unstable Alliance
CHAPTER L The Measure of Evil
CHAPTER LI The Cygnet and the Swan
CHAPTER LII The Day of Reckoning
CHAPTER LIII The Unwelcome Visitors
CHAPTER LIV The Advance Guard
CHAPTER LV The Wedge
CHAPTER LVI The Rekindled Flame
CHAPTER LVII The Scales Unbalanced
CHAPTER LVIII The Face of the Enemy
CHAPTER LIX The Beacon of Hope
CHAPTER LX The One Little Thing
CHAPTER LXI The Embrace of Death
CHAPTER LXII The Turning of the Tide
CHAPTER LXIII The Fleeing Free
CHAPTER LXIV The Last Hurrah
CHAPTER LXV The Mask of Guilt
CHAPTER LXVI The Eleventh Plague
CHAPTER LXVII The Unhappy New Year
CHAPTER LXVIII The Parting of the Ways
CHAPTER LXIX The Lucky Conjuror
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
About the Author
Also by Darren Craske
Copyright
About the Publisher
THE STORY SO FAR…
WHEN A SERIES of grisly murders coincided with the arrival in London of Dr Marvello’s Travelling Circus, the performers found themselves caught up in some rather sinister goings-on. Prometheus the strongman was named the chief suspect and it fell to Cornelius Quaint – master conjuror and the circus’s proprietor – to clear his name. Ably assisted by his Eskimo valet, Butter, and his clairvoyant confidante, Madame Destine, Quaint set out to discover the identity of the true killer before it was too late.
What appeared to be random slayings were actually part of an elaborate plot by his arch-nemesis, the French mercenary Antoine Renard – a plot designed to keep Quaint’s attention solely on his strongman’s plight, and off the Frenchman’s real objective. Renard was being employed by the Hades Consortium – a nefarious organisation that had crossed Cornelius Quaint’s path before. They sought a legendary elixir believed buried in a London cemetery. Over the centuries it had mutated into a deadly poison, its potency augmented tenfold by its contact with water, which was not good news considering their target was the River Thames itself.
Not without considerable hardship to himself and his troupe, Quaint managed to stop the Hades Consortium’s plans, and he watched Renard drown before his eyes. But the conjuror’s trials were far from over. He soon learned that the Thames was just the rehearsal. The main act was the River Nile in Egypt, and Cornelius Quaint could not help but consider the possibility that he was too late to stop what was already in motion…
CHAPTER I
The Eager Pupil
FANTOMA, EGYPT, 1853
‘IS IT TRUE, teacher? Is Antoine Renard dead?’ The young woman stormed into the cavernous chamber. The meeting room was almost pitch-black save for a row of torches affixed to a far wall, and their flames snapped at her as she walked past.
The older man sitting at the oval-shaped table barely acknowledged her arrival. His grey eyes watched the olive-skinned woman scrape a wooden chair across the stone floor and slump herself into it before he spoke, a voice coated with a thick Italian accent. ‘Si, la mia allieva. It is true,’ he said.
‘Then my operation here in Egypt is sunk! If Renard is dead, then so is everything that we worked so hard to procure in London. That poison was essential for what I have planned for the Nile.’ Spying the look of discontent on the man’s face, the woman quickly lowered her guilt-ridden eyes to the floor. ‘I have failed, teacher.’
‘Almost,’ growled the man. ‘Prior to his premature death, Renard was able to dispatch the consignment of poison into another operative’s hands. The Hades Consortium has more than one dog in our kennel.’ Without warning, the Italian slammed his fists down onto the marble table, sending a glass carafe crashing to the floor. ‘London was a mistake, Jocasta! I was against it from the start! You allowed Renard too much slack on his leash, and look what happened as a result. He derailed a delicate operation that took months to plan – and for what? A petty feud with a circus magician of all things!’
The woman’s eyes flared. ‘But surely you do not think that I had any power over that, teacher. Antoine Renard was always reckless!’
‘As are you, Jocasta, but as my protégée I keep you tamed – at least, that is what I tell the Hades Consortium’s inner stratum. I am quickly running out of favour with the council, and more rides on the success of your plot than just your own fortunes. You have a lot of ground to make up.’ The Italian twisted his bulk awkwardly in his seat as if constricted by a straitjacket, and he washed his tongue over his pearly teeth. ‘It was not just Renard that we lost in London, remember? The Hades Consortium had been planning Commissioner Dray’s ascension within Scotland Yard for years! Sir George will not be best pleased to hear of his son’s death.’
All colour drained from the woman’s face. ‘He…does not know?’
‘Sir George is busy with Consortium affairs in India at present. I do not think the news has reached his ears. Perhaps you would like to be the one to tell him, cara mia. After all, it was your botched operation that was to blame for his son’s death.’
‘Surely you are more experienced in reporting
failure to Sir George, teacher – or need I mention China?’ said the woman, with a vague smile. ‘It is not just me that has lost cultivated resources of late.’
The Italian fumed. ‘That bloated Chinaman was a stubborn fool. There was no way that he would allow us to encroach upon his boundaries, especially after what happened in the old days. There is bad blood between Cho-zen Li and me, let us leave it there. If I were you, I would be more concerned with my own affairs.’
‘I promise you, this project will be a success!’ said the eager pupil, her smile now in full bloom. ‘On New Year’s Eve, the River Nile will be awash with the deadliest poison known to man. Egypt will be on its knees begging for mercy, and there are no circus magicians to get in the way this time.’
CHAPTER II
The Fond Farewell
LONDON, ENGLAND
WHERE THE HECK is Mr Q?’ the knife thrower asked the Chinese identical twins, as she coiled her hair nervously around her fingers. ‘He should be here by now!’
Dressed in their matching leotards, decorated with the black and white symbols of their namesakes, Yin and Yang exchanged awkward glances and silent thoughts.
‘He will be here soon, Ruby,’ insisted Yang. ‘The boss would not miss a party, especially one where he is the guest of honour. He is probably on his way here as we speak.’
‘My brother is correct,’ added Yin, also seeking to mellow Ruby’s mood. ‘The boss is a man of his word. When has he ever been late before?’
A sudden hush descended upon the trio. Poor Ruby, she had worked so hard to plan this party to be perfect. It was just a shame that she had not factored Cornelius Quaint’s legendary unreliability into the equation. Although capable of great marvels whilst on stage, the conjuror’s timekeeping was decidedly less than marvellous.
‘Well…there was that one time in Spain,’ said Yang. ‘We had to perform the entire programme without him.’
‘And Austria. Don’t forget Austria,’ added Yin, unhelpfully.
‘Ah, yes. Quite right, brother,’ nodded Yang. ‘I had forgotten Austria.’
‘He spent almost six hours being measured for a new suit and we missed getting our papers stamped, remember?’ offered Yin. ‘We had to wait three days at the border before they would let us in.’
‘Now that you come to mention it…the boss is always late,’ Yang said.
‘Actually, he is renowned for it,’ agreed Yin.
‘Thanks, boys,’ said Ruby through gritted teeth. ‘You’re just the tonic I needed. Remind me never to come to you if I’m feeling suicidal – which might be in about ten minutes if the boss doesn’t show up!’ The young woman threw her arms in the air and moved swiftly away from the acrobats, leaving them to practise their routine.
The platform at Grosvenor Park railway station was a crowded affair. Colourfully decorated banners, streamers and flags adorned the side of the circus steam train. A hand-painted sign reading ‘Bon Voyage’ hung from the iron girders of the roof, and all the company’s performers and crew had flocked onto the platform awaiting the arrival of their employer. Clowns, jugglers and acrobats were decked out in all their glory in readiness to perform a proper send-off befitting the much-respected – albeit currently absent – circus proprietor.
Jeremiah the clown had painted himself up (reluctantly, if the look on his face was any indication) and stepped into his most garish outfit alongside his co-performer, Peregrine, who was dressed in a striped shirt and high trousers – high trousers, indeed, for the dwarf, who measured just shy of two and a half feet tall. Whilst Jeremiah gulped from a bottle of nondescript brown liquid, Peregrine seemed oddly transfixed by the cuffs of his shirt.
‘Perry, you’ve got a face like a slapped arse,’ said Jeremiah. ‘Have a swig of this stuff – it’ll cheer you up no end.’ He offered the bottle to the dwarf, who pushed it away as if it were arsenic.
‘Is that your homemade liquor?’ squawked Peregrine. ‘Christ, I ain’t drinkin’ that stuff again, Jerry. I’ll be chuckin’ me guts up all night like last time.’ The dwarf took sniff of his cuffs, and retched. Standing on tiptoes, he presented his wrist to Jeremiah. ‘Do us a favour and ‘ave a sniff of this, will you?’
Jeremiah leaned down and took a brief sniff of Peregrine’s cuff. He recoiled, clamping a hand over his mouth. ‘What the hell’s that stench?’
Peregrine scowled. ‘It’s that flippin’ tiger, I swear! The bloody thing has been usin’ me trunk as a bleedin’ lav’ again.’
‘You want to have a word with Kipo, mate – that stuff stinks!’
‘No wonder no one’s botherin’ to come over and chat!’ grumbled Peregrine.
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s got anythin’ to do with it, mate.’
Peregrine looked up hopefully. ‘You don’t?’
‘Course not. Tiger piss is a darn sight more fragrant than the stink you normally give off,’ said Jeremiah with a toying grin.
As Ruby approached, the two clowns stood to attention and saluted.
‘Officer on deck!’ chimed Peregrine.
‘Everything’s ship-shape and ready for your inspection, ma’am,’ added Jerry.
‘It was funny the first twenty times, lads, but now it’s wearing a bit thin,’ said Ruby. ‘I’ve come to ask if you’ve seen Mr Q – if it’s not asking too much to get a straight answer for a change?’
‘Straight answer?’ chirped Peregrine, scratching his bushy beard. ‘From us?’
Jeremiah leaned over to him. ‘Maybe she’s got us confused with someone else.’
‘Could be,’ said Peregrine, glancing at his colleague’s baggy trousers, red-and-green-striped shirt and carrot-orange wig. ‘We do get mistaken for the twins a lot.’
‘We heard that,’ chorused two Chinese voices from across the platform.
Ruby held up her hands. ‘Never mind! I’ll go somewhere else for some sense.’
‘Good luck with that,’ called Peregrine. ‘Most people have had some of Jerry’s grog so there ain’t much sense left in many of ‘em. If the boss doesn’t show his face soon this party will be over without him!’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ said Ruby as she turned away swiftly, bumping headlong into a diminutive Inuit dressed in a smart pinstripe suit, with an off-kilter bow tie at his neck.
‘Sorry, Miss Ruby. I did not see you,’ the Inuit said, doffing an invisible cap.
‘Butter! At last, someone capable of normal conversation,’ Ruby said, steering the Inuit away from the cackling clowns. ‘If anyone knows where the boss is, it’s going to be you.’
Butter beamed up at the pretty knife thrower with besotted eyes.
‘Well?’ Ruby asked, with a shrug.
‘Yes, thank you, Miss Ruby. The party is all going swimming!’
‘We’ve still got a way to go on your English lessons, I see,’ said Ruby. ‘I meant “Well?” as in “Well…have you seen him?”’
‘Seen who?’ Butter enquired.
‘Who do you think?’
Butter laid his head on one side. ‘You can give me a clue, yes?’
‘I had better luck with the clowns,’ Ruby said under her breath. ‘A bossy six-foot-tall conjuror with a shock of silver curls. Ring any bells?’
Butter broke into fits of giggles. ‘Oh, Miss Ruby, I have played this game. It is much fun! And now I must guess who you say, yes?’
Ruby was not quite at the end of her tether – but she was making extremely good progress towards it. ‘This isn’t a game, Butter! I’m asking if you’ve seen our illustrious leader anywhere.’
‘Oh…you mean Mr Quaint?’ the Inuit asked.
‘Unless you know any other bossy six-foot-tall conjurors with shocks of silver curls?’ enquired Ruby.
Butter carefully considered the question. ‘No. I do not think that I do.’
‘Never mind. I’ll find Prometheus and ask him,’ Ruby said, turning around.
‘Prometheus, yes. I know where the strongman is!’ said Butter.
‘Yes?�
� asked Ruby expectantly.
‘Yes!’ announced Butter with pride.
‘You know where Prometheus is?’ asked Ruby again, just to be sure.
‘Yes!’ repeated Butter.
‘You’re absolutely sure?’
‘Yes! Yes!’
‘Okay then…so where is he?’ Ruby asked.
‘He is with Mr Quaint,’ the Inuit replied.
Ruby waved goodbye to her tether as it vanished into the distance. She should have won some kind of award for keeping her composure, but as she bent down closer to the Inuit, it was clear that her fixed smile was obviously causing her some discomfort.
‘And…why did you not tell me that when I asked?’
‘But Miss Ruby, you ask if I have seen Mr Quaint, yes? For which the answer is no, but for where is our strongman, it is yes. Prometheus has a spotty business.’
Ruby waggled her finger in her ear. ‘He’s got a spotty what?’
‘Prometheus says he is going with the boss for “a spotty business down by the docks”,’ the Inuit confirmed.
It was at times such as this that Ruby had often wished that she had listened to her mother, and learned skills more befitting a young lady than being able to catch a knife between her teeth from twenty yards.
‘When did he tell you that?’ she asked Butter.
‘It has been more than two hours, Miss Ruby.’
‘Two hours?’ groaned Ruby.
‘Something is wrong perhaps?’ asked Butter.
‘When the boss is involved it’s pretty much guaranteed, isn’t it?’ said Ruby, darting off down the platform and leaving the Inuit in a state of bewilderment. ‘I’ll find Madame Destine. If anyone can tell me whether Mr Q is actually going to bother showing up to his own farewell party, it’s her!’
Ruby pushed through the eclectic collection of circus performers towards a veiled woman kneeling near the front of the brightly decorated steam engine, seemingly immersed in deep conversation with a muscular tiger.
‘You naughty pussycat, you should be ashamed of yourself,’ the woman said to the tiger, her lilting French accent draping every syllable in silk. ‘Peregrine is a dwarf, not one of your cubs.’ The tiger growled back its discontent. ‘Oui, I am well aware that he is small and furry, but it is not acceptable. You will just have to find something else to snuggle up with at night!’ Madame Destine looked up at the white turban-wearing, gangly Indian, holding the tiger’s chain. ‘I think Rajah has learned his lesson, Kipo. Hopefully Peregrine will no longer have cause for complaint.’
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