The Eleventh Plague

by Darren Craske

  ‘I am very sensitive to emotions, Aloysius, and the only emotion I sense from Joyce is deceit,’ she snapped, her voice severe. ‘I pray that I am wrong…but you must be mindful what you tell him about the Pharaoh’s Cradle.’

  ‘Pharaoh’s Cradle?’ repeated Ahman.

  The words seemed to snap Destine from her trance and she raised a hand to her forehead. Ahman leapt to his feet, only just catching her as she wilted into his arms. Laying her gently down onto the blanket, he smoothed the hair from her face. He had no idea what sort of spectacle he had just witnessed. Destine was like a stranger, speaking words with an unrecognizable edge to them. The excitement of the day had obviously caught up with her, Ahman suspected, combined with the heat and the journey from Agra. It had been a long day for them both.

  Ahman looked around; it would make a suitable camp for the night, with the surrounding trees protecting them from the lake’s chill. He rose to his feet and pulled a woven blanket from the rear of his cart, covering Destine’s slumbering body.

  ‘No more truth tonight, my dear,’ he whispered. ‘Your past will just have to wait until tomorrow, ah?’

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  The Hunted Quarry

  WITHIN THE BELLY of the mountain, Cornelius Quaint followed the sound of raised voices through the twisting, turning tunnel. It was just about large enough for him to walk through at a stoop, but every so often a protruding edge of rock forced him to navigate his broad shoulders through the tight gap. Moving faster than a slow walk was virtually impossible, not to mention downright painful. His shirt snagged on a jagged outcrop, slashing a six-inch wound to his forearm that bled profusely. Not nearly painful enough to deter him, he tied his neckerchief around the wound and continued his pursuit.

  Seeing a massive burst of orange-white light up ahead, Quaint moved unerringly towards it. The tunnel opened up as he pressed on, and there ahead of him, standing in a large cavern, was Aksak Faroud, with his Clan Scarabs fanned out around him. Many held torches and the cavern was bathed in amber light as they listened intently as their leader’s grinding, rasping voice echoed about them.

  ‘Professor North?’ Faroud called through cupped hands. ‘It is useless to hide from us! We are many and you are but one…and a woman, at that. Enough of these pointless games, give yourself up!’ He paused, giving Polly a moment to identify her location, but nothing came back. ‘The night is almost upon us and even if you escape, where will you go? The desert stretches for miles in every direction; you will be dead before you reach the nearest settlement!’ His fellow Scarabs whooped and hooted at this possibility; Faroud held up his hands to silence them. ‘We are in no rush, Professor…if it takes us the entire night, we will flush you out.’

  The Scarabs froze, awaiting a response. Nothing.

  Quaint smiled. At least Polly was keeping her mouth shut for once. Responding to Faroud’s taunting would quickly give away her position.

  Faroud cursed under his breath. ‘Scarabs, split into groups…scour everywhere,’ he growled, stabbing his torch into the ground. ‘I want every shadow lit and every stone lifted until that damn woman is found!’

  Quaint watched from his hiding place as the pack dispersed. Soon the cavern was bathed in silence, and he cautiously moved from his spot. He tugged at his ripped shirt. Blood had seeped through his makeshift bandage and his sweat was making his wound sting like acid. He looked down at the injury, just as a drop of something struck his shoulder. He gently touched his fingertip to it and took a closer inspection.

  It was a dab of red blood.

  ‘You can come down now, Professor. They’ve gone,’ he said.

  High above his head, clinging to a series of stalactites, was Polly North. She dropped down onto the floor next to him. Her face was smudged with a mixture of dirt and sweat, and she was sporting fresh grazes on her cheek and arms – telltale signs that she had come the same way as the conjuror. She dusted off her khaki trousers and blouse, and stooped down to snatch up Faroud’s discarded torch from the cavern floor.

  ‘Thanks for not giving me away,’ she said, and set off.

  Quaint grabbed her arm. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t go that way! There are twenty Scarabs waiting for you down there!’

  Polly rounded on the conjuror, wrenching her arm free of him. ‘Now you just listen to me, Mister Quaint! I’m an archaeologist. I’ve been in more catacombs than you’ve had hot dinners – I know where I’m going.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Quaint, ‘the wrong way! We need to head back the way we came in.’

  ‘Are you insane? They’ll have posted guards at all the exits!’ shrieked Polly.

  ‘Not any more, I took care of them,’ said Quaint. ‘Look, it’s the safest way for us to go, all right?’

  ‘No, it’s damn well not!’ snapped Polly. ‘That way still leads to their camp, and I have no intention of going back there. And what’s all this “us” claptrap? You’re a conjuror, right? So why don’t you magic yourself out of here. Me – I’m going to take another way out!’

  ‘What way?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘There are signposts all over this cave if you know where to look and what to look for.’ Polly lifted the torch up towards the cave roof. ‘Did you not spot those calcium carbonate deposits up there?’

  ‘Do I look like a cave expert to you?’ shrugged Quaint.

  ‘Mr Quaint, you don’t look like an expert on anything to me,’ Polly said with a stony glare.

  ‘There’s no need to be rude,’ said Quaint.

  ‘Let me spell it out to you: the further north we go into these caves, the more limestone is present…and the more limestone is present, the more moisture there is filtering down through the earth from above. Those calcium carbonate deposits up there – stalactites, to the layman – are formed by the build-up of sedimentary minerals found in water.’ She glared at Quaint’s baffled expression. ‘Did you not pay any attention at school?’

  ‘I must have been absent the day we did caves,’ said Quaint sarcastically.

  ‘Well, if there are stalactites, that means there is water nearby!’ Polly said with a triumphant smirk. ‘Faroud said that we’re miles away from the nearest settlement, and he probably wasn’t bluffing, but if this cave system is near water…and north of Bara Mephista, then my best guess is that it must be the River Hepsut, flowing through the lowlands until it reaches Nespa Point. So, we follow the stalactites north, and we find a way out.’

  ‘No one likes a show-off, Professor,’ said Quaint.

  ‘Look, I don’t care what you do, but I’m getting out of this place before those Scarabs catch up with me. Now, you can stay here and wait to die, or you can come with me – as long as you don’t slow me down.’

  ‘Slow you down?’ Quaint spat ferociously. ‘Look, I came here to rescue you – at considerable risk to my own well-being, might I add – the least you can do is show me a little gratitude!’

  ‘I don’t need rescuing by the likes of you, Mr Quaint,’ Polly stormed.

  Quaint’s temper rose swiftly. ‘Those Scarabs are animals, woman! No matter what their employer wanted from them, all bets are off. They’re going to kill you – and you say you don’t need rescuing?’

  ‘You misheard me. I didn’t say I didn’t need rescuing,’ replied Polly. ‘I said I didn’t need rescuing by the likes of you! Look, if you want to come, you’d best make up your mind.’

  There was a low rumble behind them. The Clan Scarabs were on the move.

  Immediately, Quaint’s priorities were back in order.

  ‘You’re the professor…Professor,’ he said.

  ‘And as long as you remember that, we’ll get on just fine!’ Polly snapped, heading into the darkness with her torch held above her head.

  Muttering a silent prayer, Cornelius Quaint followed her…

  A little way further, the walls of the cave closed sharply, forcing them to walk through in single file. Polly led from the front, her smaller build enabling her to sl
ide easily through the gaps in the rocks. But Quaint was not so lucky. The rocks constantly snagged his bulky frame as if they had taken an instant dislike to him.

  ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Polly asked, as she manoeuvred her way through the confines of the enclosed tunnel.

  ‘Someone had to keep an eye on you,’ Quaint said, knowing his arrogance would infuriate her – and he was quite right.

  ‘I don’t mean in these caves, man – I mean back in Bara Mephista!’ Polly crackled back. ‘What was your business with Aksak Faroud and his band of not so merry men? Nothing pleasant, I’ll wager.’

  Quaint asked, ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Well, look at you! You’re obviously some sort of a scoundrel,’ was the reply.

  ‘A scoundrel?’ baulked Quaint, taking offence. ‘A scoundrel would be miles away from here by now saving his own neck! A scoundrel would just leave—’

  Polly spun around and jabbed her pointed finger into Quaint’s chest. ‘Don’t you dare call me a helpless female, or then you really will be in trouble!’

  ‘No, of course not. You are anything but…clearly. I was going to remark that a scoundrel would leave without giving you a second thought. I came to Bara Mephista seeking information – and I was doing all right in getting it until you poked your nose in! So right now you’re my best bet of getting out of this place.’

  ‘I agree…we need to get out of these caves as quickly as possible,’ said Polly, ‘that is if your constant blabbering doesn’t give us away. Come with me if you must, Quaint, but just keep your mouth shut and watch my back,’ she said curtly, as she crawled on her hands and knees, squeezing her ample backside through a tight gap in the rocks.

  ‘Don’t worry, Professor…I’ll do that,’ Quaint said, with a wolfish grin.

  A little way further, Polly peered through the darkness as drips of water pelted her bare arms and face. ‘It’s cooler in here,’ she said, taking a long sniff. ‘And there’s a lot of moisture in the air.’ She stopped dead in her tracks, and Quaint nearly crashed into her. ‘Listen…what is that? Do you hear that?’

  Quaint could hear it all right.

  Raised voices echoed in the stillness of the tunnel, emanating not just from behind them, but from seemingly all around. The pursuing Clan Scarabs were screaming obscenities and curses – quite distinctly too.

  ‘They’re close. And coming this way,’ said Quaint.

  ‘How many do you think?’ Polly asked.

  Quaint furrowed his brow. ‘At a guess I’d say all of them.’

  The raucous barks and yells of their pursuers rapidly increased in volume, building to a vicious crescendo. Both Quaint and Polly were fluent in Arabic, but even had they not been, the Scarabs’ message was all too clear.

  Quaint and Polly scrambled down the cave tunnel as fast as they could. The sharp rocks of the walls tore at their arms and legs as they went but they did not stop – they could not afford to. Trouble was coming, and it was coming very quickly. The Scarabs were close, only a matter of yards away.

  Quaint pulled the Professor along by her wrist – much to her very vocal disgust. Cloaked in plumes of choking dust, they skidded down the steep incline of the tunnel as the uneven surface beneath their feet threatened to jar their bones from their sockets. Quaint’s boots pounded at the ground, unable to gain purchase on anything. Polly was careering dangerously close to the tunnel wall, her momentum forcing her to twist and turn with every footstep.

  Just ahead, Quaint could make out an orange glow. ‘We’re nearly there! Just hang on!’

  He covered his eyes as the light blinded him. His foot made contact with a protruding rock and he only just managed to steady himself. All would probably have been well had Polly not stumbled over the same rock and smashed into him like a rutting stag. He fell a good three feet and then hit the rocky ground like a lead weight – then Polly crashed down on top of him. Caked in thick layers of coarse brown dust, they looked as though they had been dipped in cocoa powder.

  Knuckling the dust from his eyes, Quaint noticed something.

  It was the sharp end of a sword, and as the conjuror’s eyes followed the length of the blade up to the hilt, he met Aksak Faroud and his band of ferocious Clan Scarabs.

  ‘I thought we were dead,’ spluttered Polly, wiping dust from her eyes.

  Quaint’s heart sank. ‘Hold that thought, Professor.’

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  The Death Downstream

  THE BAND OF Clan Scarabs dragged Quaint and Polly to a larger cavern within the vast cave system, and bound them together at the wrists either side of a massive column of rock that breached the ground. Wooden stakes were planted into the ground in a circle, and Aksak Faroud patrolled around the limestone column like a lion surveying its prey.

  ‘I should have killed you the moment you set foot in my camp, Cornelius Quaint,’ he said, and he punched his fist into the conjuror’s ribs. ‘But then I would not have discovered who you are…and what you want!’ Faroud paced and he punched, he paced and he punched repeatedly – each one sending a lance of pain through Quaint’s body. ‘You have disrupted what was to be a night of celebration,’ he sneered, as the veins on his sinewy neck squirmed, ‘and for that alone, I shall kill you and make your woman watch!’

  ‘For the last time…she’s not my woman,’ mumbled Quaint.

  ‘And you make such a lovely couple.’

  ‘Now you’re just being unkind,’ said Quaint. ‘Just do whatever it is you plan on doing to us – and get it over with!’

  ‘After all the trouble you have caused me? Oh, no, Mr Quaint, the least I can offer you is a death more befitting such a thorn in my side!’ He snatched Polly by her ponytail and teased a dagger along it like a bow across the strings of a violin. ‘The Sioux Indian tribesmen roaming the American plains have a tradition. They remove the scalps of their enemies to adorn their clothing as a mark of triumph in battle. It is a macabre tradition, I admit, but I can see its appeal. Perhaps seeing the Professor begging for her life will wipe the smugness from your face, Mr Quaint!’

  ‘Don’t mistake smugness for a considerable amount of pain,’ said Quaint.

  ‘And I will enjoy adding to that pain.’ The Scarab’s dark face flashed a broad smile as he released Polly. ‘You are an interesting man, Mr Quaint. You seem to be affiliated with the Professor here, and yet you know of the Hades Consortium. For obvious reasons, those two worlds do not mix well. Who are you? Why are you here in my country?’

  ‘I told you why! And I came to you hoping your Scarabs might know something…something that I could use against the Hades Consortium,’ Quaint answered. ‘Now…you can choose to do nothing and watch as your people slowly die around you, or you can help me put a stop to it!’ He breathed awkwardly, the act obviously causing him discomfort. ‘You say you don’t believe me…but if there’s a chance that I’m telling you the truth…even the slightest possibility that the Nile is going to be poisoned…can you really afford to risk ignoring it?’

  ‘You still cling to this ridiculous idea that the Hades Consortium is out to poison the Nile?’ asked Faroud. This Englishman was becoming more intriguing by the second. Even facing death, he was possessed of such conviction. ‘And suppose I give your words credence…what would you want of me?’

  ‘Our lives for one thing,’ answered Quaint. ‘Your help, for another.’

  Polly strained against her bonds – causing the conjuror to scream as she nearly wrenched his arms from their sockets. ‘Quaint, are you some sort of idiot? You don’t need his type of help! He’s a Clan Scarab – nothing but a damn animal, you said so yourself. And you want to ally yourself with a bunch of scavenging vultures like them?’

  Faroud lifted his dagger and reflected torchlight into Polly’s eyes, blinding her for a moment. ‘Professor, need I remind you that you are still my prisoner? It would not be a wise idea to insult my men in such a fashion. And what of this plot, Mr Quaint? Why does it concern you – a foreigner
to this land?’

  ‘Not just me, Aksak…it concerns you too. Or at least, it should…as well as each and every other Egyptian!’ replied Quaint. ‘As I said…I only need information…information that you can provide.’

  ‘Yes, but information about what, exactly?’

  ‘You tell me – you work for the Hades Consortium!’ blazed Quaint. Irrespective of his peril, his ire did not back down for anyone or anything. ‘They ordered you to kidnap the Professor for some reason, and I want to know…how does that fit in with what they’re planning for the Nile?’

  ‘I was hoping you would tell me,’ said the Aksak. ‘I am sorry to say, Mr Quaint, but you are wrong.’

  ‘About what?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘About who it was that ordered me to capture the Professor.’ Faroud slapped his hands to his face, barely able to contain his glee. ‘I am glad that I kept you alive, if only to see the smile wiped off your self-righteous face when you learn the truth!’

  ‘So…you do know the truth then?’ Quaint said. ‘Then it looks as if you might be able to help me out after all.’

  ‘And yet…you have not told me exactly why I should,’ said Aksak Faroud. ‘This plot you speak of…why should I get my clan involved in such a thing?’

  Quaint spoke. ‘Once the Hades Consortium unleashes its poison, the Nile will become a river of death. This country cannot function without it – you know that. You cut off the river, and it’ll be like cutting off Egypt’s blood supply!’

  ‘But is such a thing within the Hades Consortium’s grasp?’ asked Faroud.

  ‘Absolutely! The Consortium is more than capable of such havoc and so is that damned poison. I should know – I’ve seen it in action.’ Quaint remembered only too well the ravaging effect that the poison had on his body in London – in truth, it was not something he would ever forget. It was as if someone had reinvented the definition of ‘suffering’ just for the occasion. ‘Its potency is magnified tenfold by contact with water, which is why they chose the Nile. Just one damn vial of that poison is enough to do the job, polluting your lands, your cattle and your people – just one!’