The Eleventh Plague

by Darren Craske

  Destine’s hands were shaking, and her heart was beating out of time. As she slid her finger under the envelope’s flap, she could almost feel the stability of her world shuddering slightly, like the rumble of distant thunder. She brushed her fingers over the letter – written in French – and gathering her strength, she translated aloud:

  ‘23rd October, 1833

  My dearest Destine,

  If you are reading this note, then my visions were correct, and I have returned to Egypt to complete the task that I have been forced to abandon. Two nights past, I was witness to a terrible massacre, and I must leave word of what transpired. I fear that I am pursued, and have no choice but to lead you to the truth. I have placed three markers along the path that will take you there.

  ‘My employer, Aloysius Bedford, has been betrayed, and tricked into disturbing something in the desert – something that was not meant to be disturbed. I watched many men die as a result, and due to my connectivity to others’ emotions, I felt every death as clearly as if it were my own. Such an abundance of misery has caused my mind to cloud the memory, and even as I inscribe these words to you, I can feel it slipping from my grasp. I fear that if I do not commit this task to paper all might be forgotten. My premonitions have warned me that dire things are to come unless you succeed in this quest, but I have faith in you, Destine, faith in the future…in my future.

  ‘Yours, Destine.

  XXX

  ‘PS. If by some miracle my dear Cornelius is still alive, give him a kiss for me.’

  Madame Destine’s quivering fingers laid the letter upon the table. It was like reading a message from a complete stranger, but a stranger who was as close to her as a twin sister. The words – her own words – carried such a strong resonance within her mind, yet still they failed to fan the embers of memory.

  ‘I was here…in Egypt, some twenty years ago…just as you claimed, Ahman? So why can I not recall it? This letter speaks of events I have no memory of. I cannot even remember writing it, let alone witnessing them. It speaks of a task…a path to the truth…truth about this man’s betrayal. How can I possibly know where to begin if my memory draws a blank?’

  If Destine were to accept the facts as presented, her younger self had been to this country before. Something had happened, something bad, and her memory of the event was clearly waning. Yet she had known that she would one day return to complete the task. As fantastic as it sounded, the letter was undeniable proof of that. But she had not returned to answer her younger self’s call…she was in Egypt to defeat the Hades Consortium. The two were unconnected, surely. What were the chances of her coming to Egypt twenty years later, being lost in a labyrinth in the bazaar, stumbling into Ahman’s carpet store to pick up the pieces of this puzzle?

  The carpet trader let the silence get comfortable before he spoke.

  ‘You really have no recollection of this? Nor when you came to me in distress, begging me to keep the letters safe?’ Ahman asked. ‘Then we must help you remember, my dear Destine, for if I understand its meaning correctly this letter is far more than just a letter…it is a warning.’

  ‘A warning? A warning of what?’ Destine asked.

  ‘In your own words, Madame, of dire things to come,’ said Ahman.

  CHAPTER XXI

  The Comfortable Prison

  TROTTING ALONG A sandy track that led from Hosni town into the flatlands, Cornelius Quaint was sat astride a mule that was past its prime to say the least. He looked down at his beast of burden, sheer disgust evident on every inch of his face. Alexandria rode next to him on a dapple-grey horse, taking amusement from his discomfort. The dusty track presented a large pile of white rocks with a single palm tree growing between them, and it seemed an excellent place for them to rest. Alexandria dismounted first, and took a large blanket and a canteen of water from a pack on her horse’s saddle.

  Quaint glanced at her as the gentle breeze toyed with her pirouetting curls, and he was reminded of their time together in the past. What they had shared was fleeting, what some might call a whirlwind romance. Of course, the problem with whirlwinds is that often they tend to leave a lot of devastation in their wake.

  Alexandria tapped Quaint’s shoulder, offering him the canteen of water.

  ‘You were miles away,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Actually, I was right here,’ replied Quaint, taking the canteen. ‘Just not right now. So, what about you, Alex? I’m surprised to see you are still in Hosni. I would have thought someone would have come along and offered to take you away from it all by now.’

  ‘Where would I go, Cornelius?’ Alexandria asked. ‘Egypt is my home. It is where my heart is…and once was. All my memories are here. Both good and bad.’

  Quaint licked his lips, wondering how best to broach a thorny subject resting upon them. ‘So…I take it that you’ve still had no word from your father? It’s been so long. I’d hoped that he would have contacted you by now.’

  ‘So had I…once. But like the Nile eel, hope is a difficult thing to hold onto when it wishes to be free of your grasp.’ A coil of her hair fell down across Alexandria’s eyes and she valued its concealment. ‘I will never know what the hardest choice for my father was – deciding to leave…or deciding never to return.’

  Quaint rubbed furiously at the back of his neck. ‘But I just can’t fathom the man! More than my old tutor – we were friends! Your father was an intelligent man who loved his family dearly. I can’t believe he’d just simply up-sticks and vanish without so much as a word.’

  ‘Why not?’ Alexandria asked. ‘You did.’

  Quaint reeled with the blow. ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Your memory of him seems to be at fault, Cornelius. My father was far too busy with his obsession to worry about anyone’s feelings. He cared more for digging around old desert tombs than being with his own family. Evidently…that is fact.’ Alexandria fought back the urge to cry. She could not dare let her anger falter, for then it would only be replaced by sadness and she would not allow that. ‘Joran was but a year old when my father left. He has no memory of him. He carries no anger inside his heart and I envy him for that. But my own anger is not something that I can discard so easily.’ Alexandria’s tone may well have been cold, but the emotion was all the more evident by its absence. ‘What is past is past. My father is gone. If he wanted to return, then he would have already done so.’

  ‘Unless he was unable to,’ offered Quaint, hoping that Alexandria had at least considered that fact. ‘Did you know that he was the reason that I came to Egypt in the first place? At college, his teachings ignited a passion for this country’s history that still burns within my heart to this day. He was the best tutor that I ever had. If not for him…I would never have met you.’

  ‘So now I have two things to blame him for,’ Alexandria said.

  ‘Twenty years is a long time to hold a grudge, Alex, especially against someone you can’t make amends with…and I don’t mean me, I mean your father, by the way. If you offer hatred shelter inside your heart, it will only end up taking permanent residence there. It will eat you alive…one little piece at a time. Believe me, I happen to be somewhat of an expert in that field.’

  ‘My hatred is the only thing I have left to remember him by, Cornelius, do you not see? It is my only protection,’ said Alexandria.

  Quaint reached over and brushed the underside of her chin, forcing her to catch his eye. All her anger towards him had subsided now that she had found a more suitable target. She looked so fragile. ‘It’s not your protection, Alex – it’s your prison. You’re incarcerated by your hatred every day that you permit it to shackle your thoughts.’

  ‘And so let us turn this conversation to your shackles, Cornelius…namely your altruistic streak,’ Alexandria said, thankful for a change of subject matter. ‘This task to save Egypt…why must it fall on your shoulders? Surely there are others in a position to help. What about the consulate in Cairo, what did they say when you informed
them about this plot?’ Seeing the blank look in Quaint’s eyes, she stood swiftly from the blanket and kicked at a tuft of sandy grass. ‘You have not even told them? Why do you think you are the only one who can put things right in the world?’

  ‘Because sometimes I am!’ flashed Quaint.

  ‘You have to fix every damn thing that is broken, letting what is important slip through your fingers!’ Alexandria fumed. ‘That is why you ran away all those years ago. Something came to sway your attention, something that you could not leave alone, and you just upped and ran.’

  ‘This isn’t like that, Alex…it’s my responsibility!’ said Quaint, rising to his feet.

  ‘It is your belligerent nature, more like!’

  ‘I did not get involved in this plot to buff my ego, Alex – someone involved me! All I’m trying to do is make sure that he doesn’t succeed! I want to wipe his stain from my memory once and for all. Whether you believe me or not, it doesn’t matter…it is what I believe, Alex, and I won’t fail in it. I cannot fail and I cannot relent, for there is no one else to pick up the pieces! But I can’t do it alone…that is why I came to you.’

  Alexandria reached out a trembling hand for him. ‘I…I am sorry, Cornelius. I am being selfish. You are right…this is not about us. Seeing you again just took me by surprise, it…it brought some old feelings back to the surface. Forgive me.’

  Quaint ruffled his hair. ‘No, it’s all right, Alex…I deserved it. And it’s not as if I’ve not fought this argument before. Destine feels much the same as you do about my belligerent nature…but she knows that I do these things because it’s just something that’s a part of me. I can’t ignore it…and I can’t ignore what brought me to Egypt.’

  Alexandria unclenched her jaw, and gave Quaint a gallant smile.

  ‘I said that I would help you find someone who might be able to tell you something and here we are, for I did not choose this location by accident.’ Her eyes skirted across the horizon, down into the valley below their feet. ‘If there is any talk of criminal activities taking place in Egypt, they will know. The only question is whether you are brave…or foolhardy enough…to ask them.’

  CHAPTER XXII

  The Valley of Death’s Shadows

  QUAINT FOLLOWED ALEXANDRIA to the cliff edge, peering cautiously over the side. The desert wasteland stretched as far as the eye could see. A barren, grey-brown wilderness populated by nothing except hills, rocks, dust and sand.

  ‘Down there?’ he asked.

  Alexandria nodded. ‘If you wish to get answers about this plot of yours, yes,’ she said, pointing to the inhospitable landscape below. ‘Down into the valley of death’s shadows, to the place where the souls of the dead roam, and their ghosts walk freely in daylight.’

  ‘Ghosts?’ laughed Quaint. ‘Don’t tell me you think this place is haunted!’

  ‘Pay heed, Cornelius, for as you will soon discover, evil has made its home here. The valley is haunted by something far, far worse than the ghosts of the dead,’ said Alexandria.

  Unconvinced, Quaint scanned the valley in closer detail, when he noticed something almost shrouded from view. Nestled in between two gigantic, red mountains was an encampment. It was shadowed in a dark swathe of night, despite it being just past two o’clock in the afternoon. Not one ray from the sun penetrated the valley, as if the encampment did not merit its light.

  ‘Where is this place?’ Quaint asked. ‘It’s not on any maps I’ve seen.’

  ‘It is a settlement from the old days named Bara Mephista,’ replied Alexandria, as she watched the flicker of interest in Quaint’s dark eyes. ‘It was once home to a group of Nubian settlers who called themselves “The Fleeing Free”.’

  Quaint rubbed his jaw. ‘A literal moniker, I take it?’

  Alexandria nodded. ‘They were a tribe of nomads that originally fled here from the city of Khartoum…and they are a legacy from my country’s past that we do not celebrate. The Fleeing Free worshipped gods of death, and practised their dark rituals right there in the place you see before you. To look across these plains now, save for the remains of their old settlement, you would never know they even existed. They were purged by the pharaoh of that time, their name was struck from all historical records, wiping them from the face of Egypt. That is why you will not find this settlement on any map.’

  ‘When your lot hold a grudge, you don’t muck about, do you? I don’t suppose one of your ancestors was in charge back then?’ joked Quaint.

  ‘Bara Mephista has been tainted by that dark reputation ever since,’ Alexandria continued, unperturbed by the conjuror’s sarcasm. ‘Nubian history was my father’s life, and he surely taught you that the ancient Egyptians worshipped Amun-Ra, the Sun God. As the sun was born each day, the eastern sky signified the birth of life, yes? Similarly, as the sun set in the west at the end of each day, it became synonymous with death.’ She caught Quaint’s sceptical eyes. ‘The Fleeing Free built their temple facing west in veneration to the underworld…in service to death itself, hence the superstitions.’

  Quaint looked down at the settlement dubiously. For all the beliefs he held, the supernatural was not one of them. ‘But how can a long extinct bunch of nomads possibly help me?’ he asked.

  ‘They cannot,’ replied Alexandria. ‘But those who now reside here might.’

  Something made Quaint shiver, and he turned around to Alexandria.

  ‘Did you say this place is called “Bara Mephista”?’ he asked.

  Alexandria smiled. ‘It took you long enough to work it out.’

  ‘But, Alex…Bara Mephista is old Nubian for—’

  ‘Land of the Devil, yes. And it is very aptly named,’ said Alexandria. ‘Bara Mephista is home to the largest criminal infection that Egypt has ever witnessed…a disease that has spread throughout this country for decades, polluting anything and everything in its path. Like packs of wild dogs they roam, foraging and scavenging the land.’

  ‘They?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘The Clan Scarabs. Murderers and thieves, every one of them. Ruthless and cunning, they would slit your throat without giving it a second thought.’

  ‘Unreceptive to visitors, I should imagine,’ gulped Quaint.

  ‘You will soon find out,’ said Alexandria. ‘If anyone knows anything about this plot of yours – it is the Scarabs. If you are not to be swayed, then down you must go, willingly into their nest. But if you take but one wrong step in that place, it may well turn out to be your last. You must be cautious.’

  ‘My dear, I’m the living embodiment of cautious,’ replied Quaint.

  ‘Cornelius, have you heard nothing of what I just said?’ Alexandria snapped. ‘These men are murderers! You will be lucky if you live long enough to introduce yourself, let alone ask them any questions!’ She turned from the cliff’s edge and began gathering up their things, stowing them into the pack on her saddle. ‘If you really are going down there then you will not find me by your side.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘Where do you think? I am going back home. Back to Hosni,’ replied Alexandria. ‘I have done my part and led you here. How you decide to kill yourself is your business.’

  ‘Just like that? Alex, you can’t just leave!’

  ‘On the contrary, Cornelius…I can.’ Alexandria grabbed hold of her saddle and hoisted herself upon the horse’s back.

  ‘I’m miles away from anywhere! What if they refuse to help?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘Then a long walk back to your ship will be the least of your troubles,’ Alexandria said. ‘Unlike you, I have much to lose. I must do what you should have done from the start…I will leave the heroics to someone else.’ With that, she steered her horse towards the track. ‘If you somehow end up walking out of this valley alive, Cornelius – make sure you say goodbye this time.’

  Quaint tried his best to smile, and just about managed to, but it was a fleeting one. ‘Alex, wait! Before you go…take a look in your pocket.’


  Alexandria halted her horse with a gentle tug on the reins. She reached into her waistcoat, and her expression flitted between aggravation, surprise and then utter confusion.

  It was the seven of diamonds.

  Quaint grinned up at her. ‘Your card I believe?’

  Alexandria chewed at the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. She cast the playing card into the dust. ‘I take it all back…you are a good magician, Cornelius. But know this: if you wish to walk back out of this place with your life, you will need to be better than just good… you will need to be absolutely spectacular!’

  Quaint watched her fade into the distance, claimed by a cloud of dust. He slowly walked towards the card, picked it up, and slipped it into his trouser pocket. Glancing into the valley to his destination, he smiled at Alexandria’s words.

  Thankfully, being absolutely spectacular was well within his means…

  CHAPTER XXIII

  The Viper’s Venom

  LADY JOCASTA WAS alone in her quarters deep beneath the ruins of the ancient city of Fantoma. Sweeping velvet curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor, and a large bed stood in the centre of the room. Wearing a flowing white silk dress, Jocasta was easily the brightest thing in the room. Flickering candles on her table signalled the entrance of a visitor, and Jocasta’s eyes greeted Baron Remus. His ice-white three-piece suit was blemish-free, and the man had an equally pristine white hat perched upon his head. But under its brim, a subdued expression hung on his tanned face.

  ‘Is anything the matter, teacher?’ Jocasta asked.

  ‘I have received word from Miss Ivy at our headquarters in Rome. Events in the Crimean peninsula are escalating and I must leave Egypt immediately,’ the Baron’s booming voice resounded. ‘The Russian navy has been flexing its muscles in the Black Sea for weeks. They have stationed troops en masse near Wallachia’s borders, and are busying themselves with the Turks, but soon many other nations will have no choice but to intervene. If everything unfolds as I have conceived, the French and British will soon join the battle, and when that happens war will be inevitable.’