The Eleventh Plague

by Darren Craske

  Ahman was not far away. His horse was drinking thirstily from the lake near the tiny patch of trees, and the little man was sitting cross-legged on the sand.

  ‘Good morning, Madame,’ he said. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Bonjour, mon cher.’ Destine leaned down and kissed him on his soft-bristled cheek. ‘I slept surprisingly well…apart from my disturbance. I am sorry for waking you.’

  ‘Ah, think nothing of it, Destine,’ said Ahman. ‘I am just pleased that you came to no harm. That…what did you call it? That après-monition…it was startling in the extreme from what you say. I must admit that I am at a loss to explain it.’

  ‘As am I,’ said Destine, forcing a smile to ease the carpet trader’s frown. ‘You must excuse me, Ahman, for as a fortune-teller I am so used to being in time with my time. I know of my yesterdays, my todays and my tomorrows. They are all arranged in a neat and tidy collection in my mind. Having my yesterdays jumbled up with my todays is a most disconcerting thought.’

  ‘I can well imagine, my dear. I only wish that I could be of more assistance, but those sorts of things are unknown to me.’ Ahman held his hand to his brow, looking at the slow climbing sun in the sky above. ‘So, where do we go from here?’

  Destine smiled. ‘Onward to the past, Ahman – where else?’

  Ahman chuckled. ‘That sleep did you good, ah?’

  ‘I feel like a new woman, Ahman, one who is energised to carry on with our search. Yet I do not think it was the sleep – rather what I learned whilst I slept. I have ploughed the past and revealed the first seeds of what happened that night, and now I must learn it all. Aloysius said that I should warn people. But warn them of what exactly? It is still only a part of what I need to know. Where can I go to find the rest of it? The encampment that I was transported to last night…Umkaza…I am being drawn to that place. I wish to see it for myself…again.’

  ‘But why, Destine? Surely you do not believe that any evidence of that night still remains?’ asked Ahman. ‘It was so long ago.’

  ‘Not physical evidence perhaps,’ replied Destine. ‘But I am feeling a resonance from Aloysius’s journal, giving my mind nuances of the truth. If what I am picking up from the book is giving me these tantalising snippets of the past, imagine what knowledge standing in Aloysius’s footsteps might bring. I am sensitive to human emotions, remember? Even emotions buried within rocks and sand, two decades old. Some emotions leave a stain. Negative emotions most of all. Fear, pain, death…there seemed to be much of that in Umkaza, if my après-monition was any judge.’

  Ahman scratched his bearded cheeks noisily. ‘But to Umkaza? Destine, there is nothing there. It is a barren landscape! Surely whatever may have occurred all those years ago has long since faded away, swallowed by the desert winds, forgotten by time.’

  ‘And not just by time, monsieur…by me!’ declared Destine. ‘When I was clairvoyant, I experienced many visions that mean nothing to me…just shards of the future. They were not real, not yet anyway. But in time they would occur, I knew this for a fact, and so I had time to take heed of my warnings. But with this mystery laid at my feet, I am blind. I know facts, dates, aspects…similar to my premonitions, but I feel none of it, Ahman! Not in here.’ Destine tapped her forehead. ‘Or in here,’ she said, clamping her hands to her heart. ‘Umkaza may hold the key to unlocking the spaces in between the truth. I can feel it drawing me there…and I cannot resist its pull.’

  She was not of a mind to be swayed, Ahman could see that. ‘Very well, Destine,’ he sighed. ‘To Umkaza it is, and may the heavens illuminate us once we get there.’

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  The Council of Elders

  CORNELIUS QUAINT YAWNED like a foghorn, wincing as he nursed his bruised ribs. The night had not been restful. Partly due to his sleeping arrangements (a wooden bench in Bara Mephista), partly due to his sleeping companion (Polly had complained virtually the entire night about one thing or another), but mostly due to the many pairs of eyes that glared at him from every corner of the charred tavern.

  ‘I hardly got a wink’s sleep last night – I didn’t dare close my eyes,’ snapped Polly, wide awake and as vocal as ever. ‘And this didn’t help much either!’ A thick coil of rope bound her and Quaint’s wrists together – and like a marionette, the conjuror had no choice but to lift his own arm when Polly wrenched hers. ‘I’d rather be tied to one of those Scarabs!’

  ‘I’ll have a word with Faroud, if you like…providing that he can find one of his men brave enough to volunteer,’ said Quaint, ruffling his other hand through his curls.

  ‘Sleep hasn’t improved your sense of humour I see,’ swiped Polly. ‘I suppose I can’t blame the Scarabs for not trusting you. After all, you nearly torched this place to the ground, and you left two of them with nasty burns. You certainly like to live dangerously, don’t you?’

  ‘Is there any other way?’ Quaint replied.

  ‘For you, I suspect not,’ said Polly. ‘Look at the way these uncivilised dogs are staring at us. They’re itching for us to attempt an escape, so they can kill us where we stand!’ She glared at the conjuror accusingly. ‘And you want them as your allies?’

  ‘It’s not as if I have any choice, is it?’ said Quaint. ‘A lot is riding on the Council of Elders’ decision.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Polly, ‘…both our lives, for example.’

  In a crowded room at the far end of the tavern, Aksak Faroud was in congress with the other senior clan leaders. The topic of discussion was Cornelius Quaint, and so far the wind was not blowing in his direction.

  ‘Ally ourselves with an Englishman? Faroud, are you insane?’ snapped a white-bearded old Egyptian, with straggles of hair matted down against his head by a golden headband. ‘Or perhaps you have developed a yellow streak since Rakmun was captured?’

  This was Nastasi, one of the Scarab Elders, and Faroud’s predecessor as Aksak of Bara Mephista’s clan. Nastasi had still to accept that his time as leader was done and, consequently, every one of his words was tainted with derision. Faroud did not rise to the old man’s words, but his silence only served to fuel Nastasi’s aggravation further.

  ‘Lost your tongue, Aksak Faroud?’ Nastasi asked, his rough old skin as dry as the desert itself. ‘Surely you are not seriously proposing to the esteemed Elders present that you wish to assist this Englishman against the Hades Consortium?’

  ‘And do not forget the woman, Elder Nastasi,’ chipped in a gaunt Scarab at Nastasi’s side, hunched on the table almost upon the older man’s shoulder.

  ‘Thank you for reminding me, Ellich,’ said Nastasi with a nod. ‘And a woman too! What on earth has addled your senses, Faroud?’

  Faroud folded his arms stubbornly across his chest.

  ‘I believe their cause to be just, Elder Nastasi,’ he said firmly and confidently. ‘The Hades Consortium seeks nothing less than total devastation of our country…we must stand against them!’

  Elder Nastasi made a gargle of disgust in the back of his throat. ‘And threaten our alliance with them? That would almost certainly spell extinction for our kind!’

  ‘Have you not heard a word I have said, Elder? If we do nothing, our extinction will only be a matter of time anyway,’ responded Faroud.

  ‘On whose word, Faroud?’ snapped Nastasi. ‘Yours? This man Quaint’s?’

  Faroud leaned back in his chair and measured the council members’ faces. What he was asking them to do was trust him with the sanctity of their clans, and that was not a small thing to ask he knew only too well. So far, Nastasi was the only Elder speaking – and it was a shame that it was against him.

  ‘It is not as if the Hades Consortium is a benevolent caretaker of our clans! An alliance is not a stable one when it is so one-sided.’ Faroud rose swiftly from his seat. His tattered linen robes swept past the other occupants of the room as he strode around the large, wooden table in its centre. ‘Nastasi, I know it has been a long time since you were Aksak, but surely you have not forg
otten that we Scarabs are supposed to be shapers of our own destiny, rather than allow others to dictate it for us?’

  ‘I have forgotten nothing, Faroud,’ replied Nastasi curtly.

  ‘Cornelius Quaint risked his life to shine light upon the Consortium’s plot! Need I remind you that he walked right into this very camp and requested an audience with me? That takes courage. A man who is prepared to gamble his own life to protect our country is someone we should hold in high regard!’

  ‘If you believe that, then you are more easily fooled than I thought,’ seethed Elder Nastasi, the lines on his face twisting into a cobweb of wrinkles.

  ‘The world is not as it once was, Nastasi. It continues to spin regardless of how much you dig your heels in!’ Faroud spread his arms wide to appeal to his fellow clan leaders. ‘Elders…as Nastasi has rightly said: I wish to request the council’s permission to aid Quaint in defeating the Hades Consortium and clearing them from Egypt for ever. We no longer have the luxury of time on our side. If this poison is as deadly as Quaint claims, our entire country could be decimated!’

  ‘That is a very big “if”, Faroud,’ sneered Nastasi, much to the cackling delight of Ellich, shifting excitedly in his seat.

  ‘Maybe so…but we have no choice,’ said Faroud sternly. ‘We Scarabs are not men of privilege; we are men of purpose! We cannot let this Englishman fight on our country’s behalf whilst we sit around and do nothing.’ He recommenced his pacing, ensuring his eyes met the eyes of the other council members in the room. He did not need their blessing for this venture – but he craved it nonetheless. ‘The Hades Consortium has been holding our leash for far too long, giving us just enough freedom to make us believe that we truly are free…but we are only as free as they wish us to be.’ Faroud gave an elongated pause to reinforce his words. ‘That is not true freedom, my brothers – that is enslavement. Now I beg you this morning to make the right decision. We must band together as one united clan and stop this wholesale slaughter!’

  Elder Nastasi chewed the inside of his mouth. ‘You speak a very convincing argument, Aksak Faroud…but I am forced to ask how this outlander has managed to sway you so completely. I find my self questioning your judgement…your ability to lead,’ the old man said.

  ‘Neither of which is on trial here today, Elder,’ snapped Faroud.

  ‘What is to be this Englishman’s first step on the path against the Consortium, Aksak?’ asked a portly stomached Elder at the opposite end of the table to Nastasi.

  ‘He believes that Godfrey Joyce’s acquisition of the female is connected to something within her excavation site,’ replied Faroud. ‘Umkaza is to be our first stop.’

  Elder Nastasi’s hooded eyes flared. ‘Umkaza? There is nothing there but sand and dust,’ he said. ‘He will find nothing of consequence in a wasteland such as that.’

  ‘Maybe so, Elder, but Cornelius Quaint will uncover the intricacies of this plot, and I believe that he will defeat the Hades Consortium,’ said Faroud. ‘I only ask that each of you share a little bit of my faith.’

  Nastasi made a slow sweep of the table, ensuring that he made eye contact with every Elder before he spoke. ‘Well, my fellow Elders?’ he asked. ‘Do we give our consent?’

  Time had crawled slowly for Cornelius Quaint and his eyes lit up as Aksak Faroud strolled in from the room at the end of the tavern. His face was expressionless, his eyes giving nothing away.

  ‘Well?’ Quaint asked.

  Faroud said nothing. He reached for the scabbard at his waist and pulled out his dagger. Quaint’s heart skipped a beat as Faroud advanced, his dagger raised.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said, as he sliced the ropes binding Quaint’s wrist to Polly’s.

  Quaint breathed an audible sigh of relief – mostly because it meant that Faroud had not been ordered to kill him, but also because it meant he was free of the Professor.

  ‘Outside. Professor, you stay here.’ Faroud glared at her. ‘No arguments this time.’

  ‘Perish the thought,’ she said.

  Faroud led Quaint out of the tavern and into the morning sunshine in the valley. Only the day before, they had been enemies. A lot had changed in the Aksak’s mind since he had learned of his own part in the arming of the Hades Consortium. Today was a new day – a day for unification against their common enemy, and previous conflicts would have to be put aside if there was to be any hope of success. Not quite friends, not yet allies, there was a fragile sense of trust between them nonetheless.

  ‘I want you to know that I believe in your cause, Cornelius…or else I would not have risked my standing within the council in such a reckless fashion,’ Faroud began. ‘I fought with all my voice, all my strength and all my authority for their understanding. I pleaded your case with the Elders until I was hoarse.’

  Quaint nodded along to his words. ‘And?’

  ‘And I am sorry…I was unable to sway their decision. Elder Nastasi’s voice is a loud and influential one, I am afraid. The Aksak Elders must retain the integrity of the clan above all else. They do not see this danger as I do. They do not understand that we cannot let this atrocity unfold, no matter who our foes might be. In truth, they fear the Hades Consortium…and it is that which tipped the balance against you.’

  ‘And so?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘And so I have decided to disobey them,’ replied Faroud.

  ‘Can you do that?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘We shall soon see.’

  ‘Won’t the council be angry?’

  ‘Livid,’ the Aksak replied. ‘But I will have to deal with that another time. This is more important than the bruising of egos, my friend. I will aid you, Cornelius…my clan will aid you. As Aksak I have made that decision, be it for good or bad.’

  Quaint shook Faroud’s hand. ‘That can’t have been an easy choice to make.’

  ‘For an Aksak there are no easy choices, but know this…I do not do this for you, I do it for Egypt.’ The dark-eyed man clenched his jaw, a tiny muscle in his cheek flexing like a pulse. ‘By working blindly for Joyce, I allowed my judgement to become impaired. I thought that I could loan out my men to him for his petty duties and there would be no repercussions. I was wrong, and so I must accept my part in what unfolds.’

  ‘You are not to blame, Aksak…the Consortium is,’ said Quaint.

  Faroud laughed. ‘Maybe so, but I am the type of Aksak that feels all the world’s ills are his alone to bear.’

  Quaint grinned. ‘I know the feeling.’

  At that moment, he would have traded his soul with the Devil to destroy the Hades Consortium. Alone, defeating them was impossible, but with the Clan Scarabs by his side to aid him, perhaps he stood a chance after all.

  Was this the spark of good fortune that he was looking for? Was the wind finally blowing in his direction? Moreover, how long would it last?

  Inside the Bara Mephista tavern, Elder Nastasi stared out of the window and watched the two men talking up on the rise. He looked to his side, to the almost skeletal Ellich, and his dried lips curled against his yellowed teeth.

  ‘It is just as I predicted,’ said Nastasi. ‘Even now Faroud plots with Quaint.’

  ‘What will the Aksak do, Elder?’ asked Ellich. ‘Do you think he will betray us?’

  ‘Only if his heart is dominant over his common sense,’ replied Nastasi. ‘It has always been his Achilles heel, ever since he was a young man. He cares too deeply. Look at what havoc he has wrought trying to protect his fool of a brother. For that, he is as easy to predict as Egypt’s weather.’

  ‘And the Englishman’s fate, Elder?’ asked Ellich. ‘Surely he must die!’

  Nastasi waved the gaunt man’s words away, as if he was a bothersome insect. ‘Absolutely, he must…but not just yet. It seems the Hades Consortium has other plans for Mr Quaint. Ellich, see that your horse is ready. I want you to take a message for me to Cairo…to an old friend. I have a feeling that he will soon have some unexpected, and somewhat unwelcome, company.’

>   CHAPTER XXXVII

  The Cold Shiver

  LADY JOCASTA WAS bathing in the privacy of her quarters, soaking her soft, olive-toned skin in a marble bath of warm water and soapsuds. She dripped water from a natural sponge onto her breasts, relishing the feeling upon her naked skin. It was a welcome opportunity to wash away the humidity that had clung to her flesh ever since she had entered this underground cavern. She was smiling broadly from ear to ear, which for Jocasta was as rare an occurrence as pigs taking flight. For the first time in a long while she allowed herself to relax. Her plan was proceeding nicely, everything was in place, and it was now just a matter of waiting for her time to shine. Baron Remus had left Fantoma for Rome, and Lady Jocasta was secure in the knowledge that she was mistress of all she surveyed.

  That, however, was about to change.

  A rattling cough alerted her to another’s presence in her bathroom, and she nearly leapt out of her skin. The bathwater slopped onto the dry stone floor, as she hid her nudity with her hands as best she could.

  An old man stooped in the doorway, supporting his weight on a gnarled, wooden walking cane. A downy coating of white fluff covered the whole of the man’s slightly misshapen head. He wore a blue three-quarter-length velvet jacket, with a crisp white shirt and silk cravat tucked into his collar. This man looked as if he was hundreds of years old, and yet his pale green eyes sparkled like finely polished emeralds.

  ‘Sir George?’ Jocasta gasped, reaching for her towel. She pulled it tight around her, and it clung to her sopping wet body. ‘I…I did not know you were en route!’

  ‘I was in the neighbourhood, so to speak,’ said Sir George Dray, in rasping Scottish tones. His eyes pierced into Jocasta, as if burning through the towel itself to view her naked body. ‘Didn’t disturb you, I hope?’