The Eleventh Plague

by Darren Craske

  ‘How are you?’ the conjuror asked her.

  ‘Exhausted, my sweet. You?’

  ‘Absolutely worn out,’ Quaint replied. ‘Which is a shame.’

  ‘A shame, Cornelius. How so?’

  ‘Because this battle is only half won and getting out of there alive was the easy part!’ Quaint snapped.

  CHAPTER LXIV

  The Last Hurrah

  A SHORT TIME LATER, with Madame Destine and Sobek and his adopted pack of Clan Scarabs riding at his side, Cornelius Quaint pulled his horse to a stop. He dismounted and removed the parchment map from the satchel at his waist, spreading it out flat on the ground. Using rocks to keep the edges from curling, he traced his finger down the line of the Nile’s path. The sun was already falling in the sky. Time was in short supply. Motioning for Sobek to join him, the two men became embroiled in a deep discussion, with much waving of hands, confident nodding and pointing towards the horizon.

  Nearby, Madame Destine was growing impatient.

  Now that their escape from the Hades Consortium base was behind them, her mind had free rein to wander. Her worry for Ahman had returned and increased, and a hungry pain crawled restlessly around her body. Seeing Quaint occupied with other concerns, she sat upon the sand in contemplation. The Scarabs were doing much the same and were scattered in tiny groups, all of them silent and mournful. Their leader was dead and each of them grieved in their own way. Destine glanced at their dark, weathered faces, wondering how Cornelius had found himself in their company. But that hardly seemed important now; it was a tale for the long journey home to England – one of many, if she knew him. Destine strained her ears to hear Quaint’s discussion. She liked hearing him boss people around – the man had a natural talent for it.

  ‘We have nine entry points detailed here, Sobek,’ said Quaint to the bulky Scarab overshadowing the parchment map. ‘These are where Nastasi’s men will be depositing the poison. Now that he has complete control over all the nine clans, it’ll be a simple feat for him to mobilise everyone into position, and now…’ Quaint consulted his fob watch, ‘…we only have four hours to stop him!’ He snapped his watch shut to reinforce the urgency. ‘We’ll need to split up, head our separate ways, and with any luck we’ll reach the spots before Nastasi’s men do any harm!’

  ‘Some of these locations are a long way from here, Cornelius,’ offered Sobek.

  ‘Then we’d better pull our fingers out! Not one vial of poison can enter the Nile.’ He gripped the large Scarab’s shoulder tightly. ‘Understand? Not a single one!’

  Sobek nodded, and his dark eyes fell to the ground.

  ‘Cornelius…at first, I thought the Aksak was wrong to aid you…to risk our clan’s stability for an outlander…but I then discovered that it was me that was wrong. Now I understand what Faroud saw in you. I only wish that I knew where you get such faith, my friend…for with this task ahead of us, I am in dire need of some!’

  Quaint smiled. ‘Sobek, my friend, I have long been a believer that faith can be found wherever you seek it. If we are without faith in ourselves, what do we have left?’

  A shadow fell on the two men and the map and they both looked up to see Madame Destine standing over them.

  ‘Cornelius? A word, s’il vous plaît?’

  ‘You want to do what?’ snapped Quaint.

  ‘He is my friend!’ snapped Destine in reply.

  ‘Just like Aloysius Bedford was a friend, you mean?’ stormed Quaint. ‘What you’ve just told me is unbelievable! Godfrey Joyce was right! About Aloysius’s diary, about you being in Egypt twenty years ago mixed up in that nasty business in Umkaza – and I knew nothing about any of it!’

  ‘Do not blame me, my sweet. Neither did I.’

  ‘You know how I despise coincidence, Madame, but the fact that our journeys mirrored each other…it’s fantastic!’ Quaint exclaimed. ‘We were both following the exact same path…but from different sides! It’s just too ridiculously coincidental to be believed!’

  ‘I happen to think that it is all very Quaint, my sweet,’ said Destine. ‘Now, you shall misdirect my intentions no longer. Ahman is my friend, as Aloysius was, and I owe him just as much. He needs me. When we were attacked he was seriously wounded, but he is not dead!’

  ‘Oh, and how can you be so sure?’

  ‘My gifts have foreseen that he lives.’

  Quaint scowled. ‘They’re back?’

  ‘The ghosts of the past opened my eyes, my sweet.’

  ‘That’s marvellous news, Madame. Hang on – did you just say “Ahman”?’ asked Quaint, with a determined point of his finger. Destine nodded. ‘Your friend…you say he was hurt near Umkaza? A short little chap about so high?’ Quaint held his hand halfway up his chest. ‘Round face and tiny spectacles?’

  ‘Oui? Pourquoi…?’ asked Destine, a subtle smile on her lips.

  ‘I know where he is!’ exclaimed Quaint. ‘We came across him lying in a ditch by the side of the road just yesterday!’

  Destine’s smile grew even wider, her blue eyes even brighter.

  ‘You mean to say that he is your friend Ahman? So the woman that he was searching for…that was you?’ asked Quaint. ‘My word, Destine, the coincidences in this caper just keep stacking up!’

  ‘I trust you are a believer now, my sweet,’ said Destine.

  Quaint rubbed his jaw. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘And so…? What of Ahman? Is he all right?’

  ‘Well…he was injured quite severely. A deep wound to his shoulder. We sent him back to Bara Mephista for medical treatment in the care of a woman from our crew. She promised to make sure his wound was tended to.’

  Destine grabbed at his shirt. ‘Oui? Est-ce que c’est vrai?’

  ‘Madame, I’m sure that he’s been well cared for.’

  ‘I must go to him! I must see for myself,’ insisted Destine.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Quaint spat. ‘Nastasi has taken over Bara Mephista’s camp for himself. That place is going to be swarming with Scarabs!’

  ‘Nastasi? You mean Godfrey Joyce’s accomplice?’ Destine said.

  Quaint took a step back. ‘Stop that!’

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Stop knowing as much about this as I do!’ said Quaint. ‘If I can’t show off now and again, what’s the world coming to? Bara Mephista isn’t on the cards, Destine. It’s too dangerous!’

  ‘Even more reason why I must go there!’ Destine snapped. ‘I shall travel there on my own if need be, but I must make sure he is safe.’

  ‘Madame, you will do no such thing! Have you not heard a word I just said?’

  ‘You do not understand, Cornelius! You may have walked your own path these past few days, but I have also walked mine. If not for Ahman I would not have been able to set forth on my journey. He held my head up and kept me travelling in the right direction. I will not abandon him when he needs me!’

  Sobek interrupted: ‘Cornelius, if I may? I could not help but overhear…I remember seeing this man you mentioned, if only briefly. He was resting in the tavern. Our medical man Bephotsi was tending his wounds.’

  ‘And when Nastasi attacked did he know that Ahman was there?’ asked Quaint.

  ‘No, I do not think so,’ said Sobek emphatically. ‘He was too preoccupied with making his grand speech of conquest, and your friend was secreted within the rear of the tavern. Even if Nastasi had seen him, the old man’s presence would certainly not have concerned him. He had visions of victory dancing before his eyes; he was quite blind to detail.’

  ‘And Polly North? What of her?’

  Sobek shook his head. ‘Who?’

  ‘The Professor! She was tending to Ahman. She was the one who brought him to the camp,’ said Quaint. ‘Surely you saw her at Bara Mephista.’

  ‘Sorry, Cornelius, no. The old man was alone.’

  ‘Well, Polly’s the resilient type, I’m sure she’s fine.’ Quaint rubbed his hands down his face and looked over at Destine’s rigid expression.
His former governess could still teach him a thing or two about pig-headedness. ‘So…what do we do?’

  ‘I have a suggestion,’ Sobek said. ‘Let my men and me deal with the Nile and the poison. We still have enough of us to complete the task. You return to Bara Mephista with your lady here. She is worried for her companion’s life. Would you not feel the same?’

  ‘I can’t go anywhere, Sobek. I have to see this through to the end,’ said Quaint.

  ‘You have done enough, my friend,’ said Sobek, as his imposing bulk towered a few inches above Quaint. ‘We are more grateful than you can possibly imagine for what you have done this day, Cornelius…but as our Aksak often spoke: we Clan Scarabs are shapers of our own destiny.’ Sobek reached down and picked up the map from the sand. ‘This is what we needed to defeat these devils…and it was you who gave it to us. For that, you will have our thanks for ever. Now it is time to care for your own.’ He gestured with his eyes towards Destine. ‘You have to heed the lady’s request. That is what you need to do now.’

  ‘But the battle is far from won!’ protested Quaint.

  ‘Cornelius…not all wars are won on the battlefield.’

  ‘But I can’t just—’

  ‘Yes…you can,’ insisted Sobek. ‘We shall make Faroud proud of us. We shall shed light upon the shadow of the Hades Consortium and dispel it from Egypt’s lands once and for all.’

  Quaint shook Sobek’s hand firmly. ‘Looks to me like you just talked yourself into a job…Aksak,’ he said with a grin.

  Sobek frowned, as a barrage of cheers erupted behind him. He turned to face his men, who had all risen to their feet. He raised his arms to meet their cheers.

  Quaint pulled himself up into his horse’s saddle and looked at Destine, already mounted upon hers. ‘Well…you got your own way again.’

  ‘Was there ever any doubt?’ Destine replied with a triumphant smile.

  CHAPTER LXV

  The Mask of Guilt

  DARKNESS HAD FALLEN abruptly during Cornelius Quaint and Madame Destine’s journey to Bara Mephista. There was no dusk, no subtle degradation in light as the amber sky gave way to the night. There was just blackness. Quaint looked at the shadows of the Bara Mephista encampment before him. It was hard to believe that it had only been a matter of days since he had arrived in Egypt. He remembered the first time that he had seen this camp, striding resolutely towards the tavern, ready to take on the world – such was his belligerent nature (as Alexandria had called it).

  ‘This is Bara Mephista?’ Madame Destine said, looking around the settlement.

  ‘Yes, this is it,’ Quaint confirmed, dismounting his horse. ‘The Scarab camp…but I can’t tell if there’s anyone at home.’

  He strolled towards the fire-damaged tavern, refusing to take his eyes from it in case Nastasi and his fellow Scarabs tumbled through the door at any moment. But he supposed that was unlikely. It was fast approaching midnight and those Scarabs loyal to Nastasi would have been in position along the Nile some time ago – as would Sobek’s band of renegade Scarabs, with any luck. As he listened to the stillness inside the building, he was perfectly aware that Madame Destine’s eyes were upon him.

  As she watched his broad shoulders rise and fall, she wondered what was passing through his mind. She could usually sense his emotions quite clearly, yet a part of him was shrouded from her sight, a part that she could not quite make sense of. He was consciously trying his best to hide it from her, whatever it was. He was fearful, yet not fear born of their situation – fearful that she might see what he had been forced to become in this struggle, how easily he had taken lives.

  Quaint was desperate to mask it from her. He could not bear to see the look of disgust in her eyes. He could imagine it already and that was torture enough. Without his compass by his side, without her to question him, to guide him, he had been almost lost. He had made some questionable choices, yet he was sure that he was justified in what he was doing – but what if his judgement been impaired without her to guide his mind?

  Destine approached him and stroked his shoulder gently, steering him back into the real world. She smiled at him. A smile that told him what he wanted to know. A smile that told him enough.

  ‘Shall we go and find your friend, Madame?’ he asked, offering her the crook of his arm.

  Destine accepted and they approached the door of the unlit tavern. As Quaint pushed it open, it creaked like a cat’s meow. The place was deserted and, by the looks of it, it had been abandoned in a hurry.

  Quaint took the lead. He walked past the bar, past the table where he had first sat and spoken to Aksak Faroud, and past the door to the room where he had first met Polly North. A slight palpitation took flight inside his stomach as he pressed onwards, pushing open a door at the far end of the tavern, seeking Ahman.

  Shafts of pearl moonlight illuminated a sheet-clad shape laid out on a table in the furthest room of the building. Destine pushed past Quaint’s shoulder, her heart quickening in pace.

  Ahman was so serene, so silent.

  Tears flooded Destine’s eyes. ‘Is he…?’ she said, her hands running themselves over his motionless body. ‘Ahman, can you hear me?’ She cupped his bristled cheeks and planted a kiss full on the man’s lips. ‘Ahman, please…’

  Ahman slowly opened both his eyes, as if a spell had been broken.

  ‘D-Destine?’ he murmured. ‘Is…is that really you?’

  Destine beamed a smile back at him and the room seemed to get a little brighter.

  ‘Oui, mon cher,’ she said, each word a caress. ‘I feared you were dead.’

  Ahman squinted. ‘I was only sleeping.’ He yawned, rubbing his thumbs into his eyes. ‘What is all the fuss about, ah?’

  ‘I am so happy you are alive!’ Destine cried, with another kiss.

  ‘As am I,’ agreed Ahman, ‘especially if this is to become a regular side-effect!’

  ‘When you fell, I thought I would never see you again,’ said Destine. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better, now that I have had a day to rest. My shoulder still aches though…and I am thirsty,’ Ahman said.

  Quaint reached into his satchel for a canteen of water and offered it to the elderly carpet trader. Ahman drank heartily, slurping mouthful after mouthful as if he would never stop.

  ‘So who is this, Destine?’ he asked eventually, water dribbling down his beard.

  ‘How rude of me!’ Destine scolded herself. ‘Ahman, this is Cornelius…Cornelius, this is my good friend Ahman.’

  ‘We’ve met.’ Quaint shook Ahman’s hand and the carpet trader winced in pain, his hand shooting to his shoulder. ‘I’m glad to see you well, sir. It was my band that found you by the road in Umkaza’s outskirts, do you remember?’

  ‘So I have you to thank for saving my life, ah?’ said Ahman. ‘Without your aid, I would not be here. Destine has told me much about you, Cornelius.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same,’ Quaint said. ‘I’m glad the Professor took good care of you. So where is she anyway? Don’t tell me the Scarabs put a sack on her head.’

  Ahman pulled at his bearded chin. ‘Hmm. I have not seen her today. I have been very tired, you see, and have hardly spent more than a few hours awake at a time. I do not blame her for occupying herself in more stimulating company! Perhaps you should check with one of the Scarabs located herein, ah?’

  ‘I would, but the place is deserted,’ said Quaint. ‘They’ve all left.’

  ‘Without saying goodbye? Just like a Scarab. No manners!’

  Destine rubbed at Ahman’s bearded cheeks. ‘I am glad to see your smile once again, mon cher. There was a time when I thought that I would never see it again.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll give you two some time to catch up,’ Quaint said, with a wink to Destine. ‘I need to check this place out more thoroughly. Polly’s got to be around here somewhere.’ The conjuror started towards the door, when something caught his attention on the floor.

  It was a solitary envelope.<
br />
  Something willed him to pick it up. He turned the letter over and his eyes darted left and right across the address on the front.

  ‘Here, Madame…you must have dropped this,’ he said.

  Destine snatched the letter from his hands, recognising her handwriting immediately.

  ‘Madame Destine Renard – Letter 3 of 3.”

  Quaint looked over at her. ‘You look surprised to see it, Destine.’

  ‘Indeed I am, my sweet,’ the Frenchwoman muttered. ‘Where did it come from?’

  ‘It was just down here on the floor,’ said Quaint perplexed. ‘It’s addressed to you, right? So…did you not drop it?’

  ‘Non,’ Destine said simply, sensing a fiery tingle at the back of her mind.

  ‘So what’s it doing here?’ Quaint asked.

  When he received no reply, he looked first at Destine and then at Ahman.

  ‘I will explain later, my sweet…but if this letter runs true to the form of the others then I must read it at once!’ Destine snapped, as she opened the envelope hastily and snatched out the letter inside.

  Her heart pounded as she read aloud:

  ‘Dear Destine,

  If you are reading this letter, then you have found the third of my markers, and now your task is almost complete. Aloysius sacrificed his life so that the Pharaoh’s Cradle would never be unearthed. His journal contains the only record of its location, and so if you are to prevent the unthinkable, the book must be destroyed.

  We cannot allow this secret to be discovered.

  The past and the present shall entwine once more. Beware the dawn of the Eleventh Plague.

  May God bless you.

  All my love,

  Destine.’

  CHAPTER LXVI

  The Eleventh Plague

  ‘MADAME, WHAT DOES that note mean?’ asked Quaint, staring at the fortune-teller’s wide eyes.

  ‘This was the third marker…this letter!’ Destine exclaimed.