The Eleventh Plague

by Darren Craske

  ‘Yes, from your old pickpocket days in Cairo! Your secret is out, boss – Cornelius here has been telling us some wild stories of your childhood together!’

  ‘Has he now?’ asked Faroud, eyeing the conjuror curiously. His voice was tempered and calm but his eyes bubbled away furiously, barely restrained.

  ‘This man is a wonder, Aksak! He has been showing us miracles with a deck of cards – just do not play blackjack with him, eh? I have lost two bottles of gin already!’ grinned Chullah.

  Aksak Faroud ignored the bartender’s cheer and leaned closer to Quaint.

  ‘Whoever you really are, stranger, it seems that my men have warmly accepted you…otherwise I would have had to step over your corpse on my way in. However, you will find that it takes more to appease me than fancy card tricks.’

  Quaint winced. ‘Well, they weren’t exactly tricks. You see—’

  ‘Silence!’ yelled Faroud at the top of his voice. The atmosphere in the tavern became a static moment in between breaths as every pair of Scarab eyes surveyed the stand-off between Faroud and Quaint. ‘You are in my world now…and in my world, I make the rules.’

  ‘Good policy,’ said Quaint. ‘Keeps any visitors in check.’

  ‘We receive very few of them here,’ said Faroud. ‘Those who know of our presence steer well clear, and those who stumble across us by accident do not live to boast of the tale. You must either be very brave…or very stupid. Which is it?’

  ‘That depends on who you ask,’ Quaint replied, pushing his luck.

  ‘What do you want here?’ demanded Faroud.

  ‘I just need information…and it’s a matter of life or death,’ said Quaint.

  ‘The Clan Scarabs are not an information service, stranger. I hope your journey here was worth it, for it will be the last you ever take.’ Faroud drew a dagger from a scabbard at his waist, and thrust it against Quaint’s neck. The blade grazed the conjuror’s Adam’s apple and he dared not swallow. ‘If you thought you could just walk into my camp and request information, then you must have a lust for death…and I am only too willing to feed it! Now tell me, what information could a man like you possibly expect from a man like me?’

  ‘The Hades Consortium,’ Quaint wheezed.

  The words had a remarkable effect on Aksak Faroud, and he released the blade at Quaint’s neck. ‘Did Joyce send you?’

  Quaint shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘So what do you know of the Hades Consortium?’ demanded the Aksak.

  ‘A bit,’ replied Quaint. ‘I know what they’re capable of, and I know what they’re planning to do in Egypt very soon. The real question, Aksak Faroud, is: what do you know?’

  ‘I can see that you are determined to pique my curiosity, Mr Quaint’ said Faroud.

  ‘I hear that a lot,’ Quaint quipped.

  ‘So speak on,’ urged Faroud, tightening his grip on his knife once more.

  ‘Righto,’ sang Quaint. ‘The Hades Consortium is planning to deposit a consignment of highly toxic poison into the River Nile at New Year.’ He slid his finger inside his collar and touched gently at the thin wound on his neck, taking a brief look at the dab of blood on his fingertips. ‘You wondered why I would come here knowing that I was risking my life? To see an end to their plot is why, so I need to know whose side you are on, Aksak: the Hades Consortium’s…or Egypt’s?’

  Quaint was relieved to see Faroud’s full interest flicker into life.

  ‘My mother always said I was too curious for my own good,’ said the Aksak, replacing his knife into its scabbard. ‘You have just earned yourself a reprieve, Mr Quaint. We shall discuss this further once I have concluded my other business. But if I fail to be impressed by your explanation, you will be begging to die.’ Faroud snapped his fingers and several of his men barged into the tavern obediently.

  Quaint watched the procession of Scarabs with keen interest. As the last man entered the tavern and pushed past him, Quaint noticed that he was carrying someone kicking and screaming over his shoulder. By the shapely rear end, Quaint could tell it was a woman, and for one awful moment he thought it was Alexandria – until the woman cursed at her captors – a series of unmistakably unladylike oaths – and his heart relaxed. Alex would never use such colourful language – unless it was aimed in his direction. Whoever this woman was, Quaint had a nagging suspicion that she was about to disrupt all his best laid plans…

  ‘Take her out back. I will join you in a moment,’ Faroud said to his men, then spun on his heel back to Quaint. ‘I must leave you for a time…time that you should spend thinking of a reason why I should not stake you to the ground and let the vultures peck at your carcass.’

  Quaint grinned boldly. ‘Well, for one I’m all gristle. Not good for the digestion.’

  ‘Your wit is not endearing you to me, Mr Quaint,’ said Faroud.

  ‘I hear that a lot too,’ said Quaint.

  Aksak Faroud led Quaint to a small booth at the rear of the tavern, obscured by a ragged curtain. The Aksak ripped the curtain open and ushered Quaint to take one of the two chairs at the table. Two Scarab guards armed with curved swords approached and waited for their leader’s commands.

  ‘Watch this man,’ said Faroud. ‘If he becomes a nuisance, quieten him.’

  As he slid himself into the confines of the chair, and as the curtain around him was drawn, Quaint heard Faroud’s footsteps resound against the wooden floor. He heard a door directly next to him open, and then slam shut.

  Chullah scuttled into the booth and placed a bottle on the table. As he removed the cork stopper, a sharp scent of anise flooded Quaint’s senses.

  ‘You like absinthe, Cornelius?’ asked the bartender.

  ‘I’m not sure “like” would be the correct measure of my appreciation, Chullah. The last time I had some, I felt as though I’d played ten rounds of croquet.’

  ‘That sounds like fun!’

  ‘As the ball?’

  ‘Well…if you want my advice – enjoy the Aksak’s hospitality whilst it lasts,’ said Chullah, as he poured a glass of the pale green liquid. ‘And I would think very carefully about how long you wish to live for.’

  ‘It’s crossed my mind, believe me,’ said Quaint.

  Once Chullah had gone, Quaint strained in his seat to hear the conversation in the room next door.

  In that room, Professor Pollyanna North was bound to a wooden chair, her face covered with a rough sack. As Faroud strode over to her and ripped it off, Polly gasped for air, her eyes squinting madly. She looked around the room in a daze.

  ‘Welcome to my camp, Professor,’ said Faroud.

  Polly spat in his face.

  ‘I see you are not yet house-broken,’ he said, wiping the spit from his cheek.

  ‘You Scarab bastard! You wrecked my dig site! Your thieves have set my project back by six months!’ Polly screamed, malice dripping from every word like hot candle wax. ‘And you didn’t even take anything!’

  ‘On the contrary, Professor,’ said Faroud. ‘We took you.’

  Listening as best he could on the other side of the wall, Quaint’s attention was ensnared by this newcomer. So she was a professor – and a feisty one at that. But a professor of what? What could the Clan Scarabs possibly want with a professor?

  ‘You’re filth!’ Polly snarled, her anger just about keeping her tears at bay. ‘You scared off my entire crew! Do you know how long it took me to recruit that damn team?’

  ‘The show of force was necessary to maintain your compliance,’ said Aksak Faroud. ‘My employer told me of your commitment, Professor…how you fight with honour to preserve the secrets of my country’s past. For that you have my respect, but I know that you are an intelligent woman…and not to mention tenacious. No woman would come to Egypt without spirit, and no woman would dig so tirelessly in a place such as Umkaza unless they held a strong love for the land and its history. Your mother was Egyptian, was she not?’

  ‘Did you bring me out here to discus
s my family tree?’ stormed Polly. ‘What are we going to do next, swap embarrassing childhood stories? What could a group of thieving murderers like you want from an archaeological site? We weren’t causing any harm, and we’ve got the permission of the Egyptian government to dig there!’

  ‘Permission is not my employer’s concern, Professor…you are,’ Faroud said. ‘He wishes you to pack up your equipment from Umkaza and move on. The city of Anuk-Suresh has many treasures yet to be uncovered.’

  ‘Anuk-Suresh is old news! Its people were smart. They made their treasures easy to find to keep the lazy diggers busy, distracting them from other more plentiful sites hidden elsewhere,’ Polly said. ‘That might work for the rest of my colleagues, but I don’t follow the pack, and when someone tells me not to dig in Umkaza, it only makes me wonder why. My guess is that there is something worth finding there, after all…something I’ve yet to uncover, and I’ll bet your “employer” is just trying to scare me off so he can get his hands on it! Who is it? Alberto San Marco, that slimy little snake? Or is it that hairy old bear Horace Arlow? He’s been after the Pharaoh’s Cradle almost as long as I have!’

  ‘Those names mean nothing to me,’ replied Faroud. ‘You need not concern yourself with the whys and wherefores of your capture, Professor North.’

  On the other side of the wall, Quaint’s eyes widened. Professor North? Polly North? Quaint retained a healthy interest in Egyptology from his youth, and Pollyanna North’s name was known to him. Her reputation was impressive, but not as impressive as her present display of bravery.

  ‘If this is the part where you expect me to plead for my life, then you’ll have a long wait! Just do what you have to do…kill me or let me go – either way, just get on with it,’ yelled Polly.

  ‘I have no wish to kill you, Professor. My services were hired merely to relay a warning – stay away from Umkaza. For good. Or next time I will not ask you so politely,’ said Aksak Faroud.

  ‘You could have warned me off in Umkaza. Why am I here?’ asked Polly of her captor. ‘Not that I even know where “here’ is because some idiot stuck a bag on my head!’

  ‘You are in Bara Mephista, Professor,’ confirmed Faroud.

  ‘The old Nubian settlement?’ Polly asked. ‘That’s quite a trek from Umkaza. I must have been unconscious for some time.’

  ‘For the sake of my eardrums, thankfully so,’ said Faroud.

  Polly replied with a sarcastic smile. ‘So this employer you mentioned…I didn’t realise you lot loaned your services out for hire. Since when did the Clan Scarabs become someone else’s lapdogs?’

  ‘The Scarabs are nobody’s lapdogs, woman!’ shouted Faroud. The back of his hand came from nowhere, striking Polly’s left cheek. She crashed to the floor, still bound to the chair. Multicoloured flashes burst before her eyes. Faroud clenched his shaking fists tight, as if he held the entirety of his rage within them and he was desperate for it not to escape. He glared with furious venom at Polly, but then noticed a thin crease of blood at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘No! I did not mean—’

  He rushed over and righted the chair back onto its four legs. Grabbing the hem of his ragged robes, he dabbed at her mouth, wiping the blood as Polly struggled against him. ‘Professor…I am truly sorry, I…I lost control of myself. Please forgive me.’

  Quaint looked around quizzically. Was he hearing things? Had the Clan Scarab leader really just apologised? But that made no sense at all. It seemed that the rules of this game were changing by the second.

  ‘Faroud, what the hell’s going on in there?’ he yelled.

  ‘This is none of your concern, Cornelius Quaint,’ snapped Faroud.

  In an exact mirror of Quaint’s expression, Professor North frowned deep grooves in her forehead as she tried to measure the voice of the newcomer next door. Who was he? Cornelius Quaint, the Scarab had said. It was certainly an odd name – ancient Roman in origin, if she was not mistaken. But was he to be a help or a hindrance? An enemy or an ally? Perhaps he was the Scarab’s mysterious “employer”, and the man that sought to steal the Pharaoh’s Cradle out from under her nose?

  ‘Sounds like the Professor touched a nerve, Faroud,’ continued Quaint. ‘Someone is pulling your strings! That Mr Joyce you mentioned? The Hades Consortium, perhaps?’

  ‘You do not know of what you speak, Englishman – so silence your tongue before I rip it out!’ yelled Faroud through the wall.

  ‘What has the Consortium promised you, Aksak?’ asked Quaint, with no intention of silencing his tongue. ‘Do your lot get the spoils of war once the Nile is done with? Or perhaps they just appealed to your sense of fear. Is that it? They scared you into doing their dirty work for them?’ Quaint knew that he was risking a beating by provoking the Egyptian’s temper – but that was exactly his intent. If Faroud concentrated his anger upon him, it meant that he was no longer aiming it in Polly North’s direction. ‘Don’t take it personally; the Hades Consortium has a thousand little thugs like you on their payroll. To them you are nothing!’

  Faroud’s displeasure exploded at Quaint’s interjection, and he aimed his rage at the stone wall separating them. ‘I am warning you for the last time, Mr Quaint! Shut your mouth or one of my guards will do it for you!’

  ‘It’s perfectly acceptable to hurt me then?’ rattled Quaint unabated. ‘But that isn’t so for the Professor, is it? You’ve got orders not to damage the merchandise, am I right? So what do you think will happen when the Consortium discovers that you’ve been a bad boy? They won’t be best pleased, you know.’

  ‘I told you to shut up, Quaint! This does not concern you,’ yelled Faroud, dusting down his vest to occupy his temper. ‘Nasbek! Arus!’

  Immediately, the two Scarabs guarding Quaint entered the room.

  Faroud boomed with all his might, his eyes bulging in their sockets. ‘Bring that loose-lipped Englishman in here. I want him where I can see him…and if he gives you any trouble, please hurt him.’

  ‘Yes, Aksak,’ agreed the first hulking Scarab.

  ‘At once, Aksak,’ agreed the other, a dour sort with a nasty scar bisecting his face.

  Overhearing the command, Quaint’s mind worked quickly. He looked around for a weapon of some sort and snatched the absinthe bottle from the table. Unnoticed by his two fat-handed foes as they arrived, he thrust it behind his back, tucking it into his trouser waistband. The Scarabs grabbed him by each shoulder, and steered him roughly into the small room. With a painful jolt between his shoulder blades, he was cast unceremoniously onto the floor at Polly North’s feet.

  ‘Who’s this, someone else you’re trying to scare?’ asked Polly.

  ‘We’ve not been formally introduced,’ said Quaint, jovially. ‘My name is Quaint…Cornelius Quaint, and I am quite an admirer of your work, Professor.’

  She looked different to how he had imagined her – not quite pretty, but not ugly by any standard. He noticed her high cheekbones, firm lips and determined jaw. Younger than he had thought too. No wonder she had spent half her life in foreign countries. Quaint assumed that London’s scientific community would hardly approve of such a distraction in their midst.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked her.

  ‘Why is that any of your concern?’ Polly yapped back, causing Quaint to flinch.

  ‘I’m merely asking after your well-being, Professor,’ he replied. ‘We seem to have something in common.’

  ‘You’re an archaeologist too?’ asked Polly.

  ‘Actually I was referring to our present state of captivity. I’m no archaeologist, ma’am…merely a circus conjuror,’ said Quaint.

  ‘In a place like this?’ asked Polly.

  ‘I go where the work takes me,’ Quaint said.

  ‘From the looks of it, your show didn’t go down too well,’ Polly said, with a flick of her eyes towards Faroud and his two cohorts. ‘A tough audience, eh?’

  ‘I’ve had worse,’ said Quaint. ‘It seems that I’m an unwilling visitor just as yo
u are, Professor.’

  ‘Considering the fact that I’m tied to a chair and bleeding, I hardly think you’re quite as unwilling as I am,’ said Polly, as she stared at the well-built, middle-aged man at her feet with a shock of silver-white curls and charming glint in the corner of his dark eyes. Was he really all he claimed to be, or was it a ruse? If so, why was he antagonising the Scarab leader in such a reckless manner? Whatever the reason, he was doing a fantastic job of occupying the Scarab’s attention, giving her time to work at the ropes binding her to the chair…

  Quaint rose slowly to his feet as Faroud and his two Scarab guards watched his every move. ‘Answer me this, Aksak – if you really are working for the Hades Consortium, why are they so interested in a British archaeologist? What’s it got to do with their plot?’

  ‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ Faroud replied.

  ‘Oh, really? I don’t believe you,’ snapped Quaint. ‘Whatever deal they’ve offered you, it’s not worth selling your soul for! Bargains with the Hades Consortium tend to be a little one-sided. Once they’ve finished poisoning the Nile, they’ll simply divide whatever’s left between them. You and your Scarabs will be fed to the lions!’

  Faroud clearly found the very idea amusing, for his grin spread thinly and quickly across his mouth. ‘Mr Quaint, I do not believe a word of what you say. The Hades Consortium has power, this is true…but how could they possibly poison a body of water the size of the Nile? They would need more poison than a hundred camels could carry! I am no fool. I know your plan. Did you honestly think you could just walk into my camp and rescue Miss North on your own? I think she would do better choosing her friends more carefully in future.’

  ‘Friends?’ asked Polly, scornfully.

  ‘Rescue?’ asked Quaint, with an equal amount of derision.

  Polly and Quaint exchanged swift glances and then glared at Faroud.

  ‘Wait, you don’t think he’s—’

  ‘She’s not my—’

  ‘But I’m not with him!’

  ‘I’m not with her!’

  ‘We’re not together!’ Quaint and Polly chorused in unison.