If only I could bend the will of my silent guard, she thought.
And then, as the words graced her mind, they triggered something of interest. She knew that she possessed a fine-tuned perception of the emotions of others, a one-way link that gave her access to their private thoughts and feelings…but what if that link was not solely one-way? Aloysius Bedford had said that she had no idea what she was capable of. If she were not to try, how would she know her limits?
At her age, that thought intrigued her.
She glanced across the room at the guard. Wave after wave of her prying sensitivity drifted out from her mind. Her guard's state of mind was an open book to her…and she decided to thumb through the pages.
Madame Destine could sense his hatred towards her, but it was misplaced. The guard had no idea just why he hated her – just that he did. His hatred had little foundation, he hated her merely because it was expected of him – or ordered of him. That worked in Destine's favour. Hatred with no emotional grounding can be easily shaken. All she needed to do was tap into it and replace it with an emotion a little more hospitable…
Destine began to slowly push his thoughts to one side, diluting every speck of hatred within his heart, purifying him, instilling a sense of peace within his mind. It took mere moments and, when she had finished, the guard was visibly changed. He tottered slightly on his feet, more asleep than awake, drifting between the two. As Destine approached him, the guard did not even flinch.
'That is right,' Destine said softly. 'Just relax…I mean you no harm.'
Her gentle, melodic accent lifted and fell poetically, captivating the young guard's senses. He faltered a little, as if stirring from a deep sleep, but as he heard Destine's songlike voice continue to massage his mind, he relaxed totally.
'I just want to borrow these,' she said, reaching for a large ring of keys affixed to the guard's belt. 'And I wonder, would you be able to escort me from this dreadful place? You see, I have a friend that has just arrived and I would love to meet him. You would? Oh, what a dear boy you are.'
CHAPTER LVII
The Scales Unbalanced
'WELL, GODFREY?' LADY Jocasta put her bejewelled hands to her hips and glared into Joyce's eyes. 'I am waiting for an explanation. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me why you have led these men here?'
Joyce's lower lip wobbled. 'Well, I…I thought-'
'Did you? Did you really?' snapped Jocasta. 'You mean to tell me that you actually put thought into betraying us?'
'N-no, my Lady, no! I did not betray you,' swore Joyce, the only one of the group not restrained. 'This man here plots against you! He destroyed the tunnels and killed your men! He…he knows of your plan to poison the Nile! He said he would stop at nothing to put an end to it. I…I intended to deliver him here to you…I was only pretending to be on their side to gain their trust! It was all a part of my plan.'
'More slithering, Joyce?' asked Quaint, bound in ropes by the swarm of guards surrounding Faroud, Kulfar, Nehmet and him.
'You must be Cornelius Quaint,' Lady Jocasta said with a smile. 'Do you not know it is impolite to interrupt a lady?'
'Oh? Are there any about?' smiled Quaint in reply.
Lady Jocasta fumed. 'Guard, teach this man some manners.' The guard at Quaint's side smashed his iron gauntlet across the conjuror's face. 'So which of these men is the Aksak from Bara Mephista?' Jocasta asked.
Joyce thrust out his finger and pointed at Faroud. 'That one!'
'You snivelling rat! You set us up!' Faroud screamed, spitting a glob of saliva in Joyce's direction. One of the guards chopped his hand upon the back of the Aksak's neck and he flopped limply in his captor's grip.
'Lady Jocasta, the longer we wait, the more of a threat these men are,' Godfrey Joyce yelled. 'They have more friends positioned in the eastern hills! We must send a detachment of our troops to counter them immediately!'
'How dare you bark orders at me!' Lady Jocasta's voice rose in volume, echoing off the dry walls of the vast cavern like an operatic singer delivering the greatest performance of her career. She nodded to two guards at her side. 'This man has ceased to be a viable asset to the Hades Consortium. His employment is to be terminated immediately.'
'Terminated?' questioned Joyce. 'B-but please, my Lady…you're not…you're not going to k-kill me…are you?'
Lady Jocasta feigned surprise. 'Kill you, Mr Joyce? No, of course not, whatever gave you that idea?' she said, watching the colour flush back into Joyce's face. 'That would be far too compassionate. No, Mr Joyce…I am going to hurt you until you beg with me to kill you…and then watch it happen.'
The colour withdrew once again from Joyce's face. 'But…I brought Quaint here…to you…so that our forces could detain him, so he could no longer be a threat!'
Lady Jocasta said, 'And we thank you for that. You have at least done one thing of value…that is why you are not already dead.' She turned her back on him and walked to the top of the stone stairs. 'You have your orders, guards. Disarm him.'
Joyce wept openly. 'But, Lady Jocasta…I don't have any weapons!'
Jocasta smiled. 'Figure of speech.'
From the contingent of dark red-clad Consortium guards stepped two wraith-like men. Flanking Joyce, they grabbed each of his arms and spread them wide like a scarecrow. Joyce's head twisted back and forth, pointlessly trying to break free. The guards pulled him from both sides as if trying to wrench his arms from their sockets.
Sweat ran profusely from Joyce's forehead.
Struggling against the guards restraining him, Aksak Faroud fought to catch the conjuror's attention. 'Do you not think we should-'
'Intervene? Certainly not!' scoffed Quaint. 'Joyce deserves everything he gets.'
'How can you be so callous?'
'Not callous…calculating. I just know how to turn a situation to my advantage when I've got dozens of swords pointed at me,' said Quaint.
'You will forgive me if I seem pessimistic,' said Faroud. 'But at least then I will not be disappointed.'
'Look, if it makes you feel better, I doubt there's anything that we could say that would make any difference anyway. Once that cow is done with Joyce, we're up next in the queue to die. So best we just sit tight and hope for a miracle, eh?'
'Oh…as long as there is nothing to worry about,' said Faroud despondently.
'Don't blame me,' said Quaint. 'You wanted the pessimistic version.'
'I think I preferred the optimistic one.'
'That's the spirit!' cheered Quaint.
Lady Jocasta smiled seductively in Quaint's direction and pointed her bejewelled finger at him. 'Do not think that you have escaped my wrath, Mr Quaint. Oh, yes! I know exactly who you are! I have organised something special for your arrival.'
'You shouldn't have gone to any trouble on my account,' said Quaint.
'Oh, it will be no trouble…in fact, it will be my pleasure,' Lady Jocasta purred.
She signalled two more guards, who detached themselves from the mass of robed figures and took position in front of Joyce. He was a quivering mess of jellified flesh and bone. The two guards facing him unsheathed their swords from their scabbards, and by the sudden hush that descended upon the cavern, it quickly became evident what was about to occur. With a nod of Lady Jocasta's head, both the guards sliced their raised swords through the air in a synchronised arc and Joyce's arms were severed at the elbow, falling to the ground with a dull, wet thud. His gut-wrenching howl echoed around the cavern, filling every crack and crease in the rocks.
'God…no,' he mumbled through saliva-coated lips.
'God…yes!' screeched Lady Jocasta, her feral eyes wide with delight.
With her long white gown trailing behind her like a phantom, she walked down the steps and stood over him, dominating his blurred vision. She wanted to watch him die, she wanted to be the last thing he ever saw. She stared down at his severed arms, the fingers still grasping the air manically.
'Pick them up!' she whispered, pushing her
heel into his chest until he toppled over onto his back, his stumps still seeping blood. 'Your arms, Mr Joyce…I want you to pick them up.'
'You twisted bitch, can't you see he's had enough?' shouted Quaint, his outburst surprising all in the cavernous audience chamber – including himself.
Lady Jocasta gave Joyce's ribs a dig with her toe. 'You wait your turn!'
'He's half dead anyway!' yelled Quaint. 'Leave him be!'
'Cornelius is right, lass,' said a gruff Scottish voice from the shadows. An immediate silence fell as all eyes looked to Sir George Dray, standing at the far entrance to the chamber. 'You've made your point.'
Quaint scowled through the darkness of the cavern at the owner of the strangely familiar voice. Then, as the old man stepped into the flickering torchlight, Quaint was struck by a blistering shock of recognition. The man's craggy face had grown considerably craggier since Quaint had seen it last, but there was no doubt as to its owner's identity.
'You?' Quaint gasped.
'I'm flattered you remember me, Cornelius…it's been a long time,' said Dray, as he forced a smile from his rigid mouth.
'Not long enough.'
'Careful, lad…you'll hurt my feelings.'
'I hope so.'
'Still practising a sense of humour I see,' muttered Dray.
'What are you doing here, George?' Quaint asked.
'I could ask you the same question, Cornelius…but then I already know the answer,' Dray said, manoeuvring his hunched form down the stone steps on his walking cane. 'I see by the look on your face that you weren't expecting me…but I've been expecting you. Oh, yes.'
'Cornelius, I am confused. Who is this man?' Faroud asked.
'You don't want to know,' replied Quaint bleakly.
Aksak Faroud looked at the old man, and then looked back at the cold abyss within Quaint's black eyes. 'So did things just get better…or worse?'
Quaint smiled, but not the smile of a man amused – the smile of a man who knew once again that Fate was toying with him. 'That depends on whether you want the optimistic version or the pessimistic one.'
'Surprise me,' said Faroud.
'If we might have ever had the slightest hope in hell of getting out of this mess with our lives then it just went up in smoke,' Cornelius Quaint replied.
'I see.' Faroud gulped. 'And what is the optimistic version?'
Quaint grinned. 'That was the optimistic version.'
CHAPTER LVIII
The Face of the Enemy
SIR GEORGE DRAY walked past the still-convulsing form of Godfrey Joyce, towards the small band of men at the far end of the audience chamber. He ignored Faroud and his two Scarabs – there was but one target for his attention.
'So here we are, eh?' he said. 'Once again we find ourselves on opposite sides, Cornelius…and once again the odds are stacked against you. I should have put a bullet in your head back in Peru and saved myself a lot of trouble.'
'Why are you here, George?' asked Quaint. There was a noticeable edge to the conjuror's voice, as if all he wanted to do was rip the old man apart one limb at a time. Had the guards not restrained him, he probably would have given it some serious consideration.
'I just wanted to say hello to an old friend, what's wrong with that?' Dray mocked.
'You don't have any friends, George – old or otherwise – you stabbed them all in the back years ago,' said Quaint. 'So you're the brains behind this plot, are you? I should have known. Poisoning the Nile is a bit dramatic for you, isn't it?'
Dray gave a grin that scarred his face. 'Actually, lad, this one's not my doing. Lady Jocasta here has a wonderful imagination when it comes to death…just take one look at that bleeding sack of guts over there.' He pointed at Joyce, twitching on the ground in a pool of blood. 'She will be greatly rewarded by the Hades Consortium.'
'How very like you, George. You're still surrounding yourself with pretty things lacking in intelligence, I see,' Quaint said dryly, his eyes nodding towards Lady Jocasta.
Dray laughed. 'And you are still surrounding yourself with inferiors to make yourself look better, I see.'
'I am no inferior, old man, I am Aksak of the Clan Scarabs!' snapped Faroud, struggling against his captors. 'And who are you, may I ask?'
'This is Sir George Dray, Scarab dog!' snarled Lady Jocasta, striding towards Faroud. She gripped his dark face between her fingernails and squeezed tight, drawing blood from his cheeks. 'And you will bow down before him!'
'I would sooner die,' snarled Faroud.
Sir George Dray blinked slowly, a granite expression on his face. 'I would be glad to accommodate that request, lad…as Cornelius knows only too well…so if you've finished with your interruptions, maybe I can finish my little chat with your friend, hmm? So you know all about Jocasta's wee project then, Cornelius? Renard told you, did he? With his dying breath and all that? And, of course, righteous Cornelius Quaint couldn't let such a terrible catastrophe occur, and so you came halfway around the world to try to stop us?'
'My social calendar was dry this month,' said Quaint. 'This plot is nothing short of mass murder, George. Surely you must know that? This is on a larger scale than anything the Consortium has attempted before. Killing so many people, it's inhuman! You're an evil old bastard, true – but this isn't your usual fun and games. I know you. You like to see the whites of your victims' eyes.' Quaint switched his verbal attack towards Lady Jocasta. 'Poison is the weapon of cowards. This plot is no better than a knife in Egypt's back!'
'How dare you?' Lady Jocasta stepped forward and slapped her hand across Quaint's cheek. 'It is far more civilised than that! Do you have any idea of the amount of planning necessary to engineer such slaughter? Can you possibly comprehend the complexity of it all? Of course not! You are an ant.' Lady Jocasta flicked her ponytail, preening herself, watching the spite in Quaint's eyes ignite. 'From what I hear about you, Mr Quaint, you like to muddy your hands in other people's business. You may have had luck in the past, but it has now run out.'
Quaint glared at Lady Jocasta. 'I don't know who you are, woman, but I wouldn't stick my neck out if I were you. You haven't won yet and I'm full of surprises.'
'Typical Englishman. All swagger and boast,' said Lady Jocasta. 'Is that not right, Sir George?'
'Oh, yes, dear. Quite so,' confirmed Dray. 'You're in for a bit of a shock, Cornelius, because you see, I knew you were coming. I led you here, for God's sake! So did you really think that I would just allow the schedule for our plot to continue, knowing the risk that you possess?'
'What's that supposed to mean?' asked Quaint.
'You put up a valiant effort getting this far, but really you never stood a chance,' said Sir George. 'I've just been waiting for you to catch up.'
Quaint shook his head. 'Your overconfidence will be your undoing, George.'
'Did I not tell you that he's an arrogant bastard, Jocasta?' Dray put on a sympathetic face, like a parent about to tell their child that Father Christmas doesn't exist. 'Cornelius, you really have no idea, do you? I hate to break it to you, son, but this battle was fought and won before you arrived, and unfortunately…you lost. Dear, oh, dear…how deluded you are,' he said, folding his tongue into his cheek. 'Stopping what's in motion is way beyond your grasp now…unless you are a better magician than I give you credit for. Jocasta, my dear, what is the latest status report for our plot? And you might want to pay attention to this, Cornelius.'
Lady Jocasta licked her lips. Watching Quaint's bluster deflate, her face could not express any more satisfaction if it tried. 'We had intended to implement the plan at midnight tomorrow, on New Year's Eve. However, due to your unwanted involvement, Mr Quaint, it was felt that the longer we waited, the greater the possibility of you upsetting things. You do, after all, come with a reputation for poking your nose in where it does not belong. So to that end, Elder Nastasi of the Clan Scarabs will begin facilitating the dispersal of the toxin tonight…in but a few hours, one day ahead of schedule.'
'Tonig
ht?' Quaint cursed the word.
'Nastasi?' asked Faroud.
Sir George looked over at Lady Jocasta and waved her to continue.
'Nastasi is not the man he once was. He has seen his former glory slip through his fingers, and so when we offered him a chance to reclaim what was rightfully his, the old fool practically bit our hands off!' she said. 'The Hades Consortium has given Nastasi the necessary support to gain control of all the nine regions…in exchange for his conformity to my plan. Tonight, on the stroke of midnight, those Scarabs unified under his reign will deploy the poison into the River Nile.'
Sir George smiled thinly. 'And their fate once this deed is done, Jocasta?'
'Purged, Sir George, just like the contagion they are,' Lady Jocasta answered. A tiny, sadistic giggle escaped the corner of her mouth. 'Every…single…one of them!'
'You forced my hand, Cornelius,' said Dray. 'All you have done is cement Egypt's fate that much quicker. I've been waiting all week just to see that look on your face!'
'All week? How did you know I was in Egypt?' asked Quaint.
'Because I organised the whole thing – why else do you think you failed?' snorted Sir George, shaking his head as if it were glaringly obvious. 'When I heard that you were sniffing around London asking questions about our organisation, I arranged for one of my contacts to find himself in your company and give you some very specific information.' Dray let this knowledge permeate for a moment. 'Mr Ferris is a loathsome individual, to be sure…but give him a few quid and he's as loyal as a terrier.'
Quaint's eyes narrowed. 'Ferret?'
'You followed my little trail of breadcrumbs so willingly. How else was I to make sure you came to Egypt? I knew that I couldn't prevent you from getting involved, so if you were going to come, I wanted it on my terms.' Dray grinned at the effect his words were having, and he turned the screw one more rotation. 'Since I knew that you were sailing on the Silver Swan it was simplicity itself to arrange for my man Nadir to join you onboard, the same gent that babysat our little consignment of poison. His attempts to kill you failed…clearly…so he engineered events so that dear old Madame would come to Mr Joyce's attention. I knew that you would go to the ends of the earth for her – it was your predictability that I was relying on, laddie…and you didn't let me down!'
The Eleventh Plague cq-2 Page 28