The Eleventh Plague cq-2

by Darren Craske

  'Define "catastrophic event",' said Quaint warily.

  'Back then, my premonitions warned me that the tomb was not all it seemed. It was infected with a bacterium that could be passed on by the merest touch of flesh upon flesh. It was deadly within one month of infection,' explained Destine. 'Once Aloysius learned of his benefactor's plot, he dug up the Pharaoh's Cradle and hid it away so that the Eleventh Plague would be contained…killing himself in the process.'

  Quaint scratched his curls, lost in confusion, but then he clamped his hand onto Destine's shoulder. 'What did you just say?'

  Destine began, 'Killing himself in the-'

  'Not that bit!' yelled Quaint, startling the fortune-teller. 'What did you mean about his benefactor's plot? Which plot?'

  'The plot to use Aloysius as a means to transport the bacterium to England, where he would unknowingly infect the greatest minds of the Empire…not to mention anyone else whom he came in contact with,' said Destine, lowering her head. 'Aloysius was tricked and betrayed by so many. Godfrey Joyce, Nastasi…and finally by his benefactor, a Chinaman named-'

  'Cho-zen Li,' Quaint gasped. 'Professor North's benefactor.'

  'Professor North…your companion?' asked Destine.

  'The very same,' said Quaint grimly. 'Cho-zen Li sponsored her dig…her dig to Umkaza…to find the-'

  'Pharaoh's Cradle?' Destine gasped. 'Just like he did in 1833. When was this?'

  'Recently…' mumbled Quaint, pacing the floor.

  Madame Destine's hand darted to her mouth. 'How recently?'

  'As in right now!' Quaint snapped. 'That's why she was in Umkaza! To find the bloody thing – and on Cho-zen Li's instructions, to boot. He promised her that it was there…'

  'That is what he told poor Aloysius also,' said Destine.

  Quaint snatched at the air in frustration. It was as if the truth was playing hide and seek within him. 'But this is utterly preposterous! Why would Cho-zen Li hire the Professor?'

  'To finish what he began?' suggested Destine. 'As preposterous as it sounds, is it any less so than the other coincidences that have befallen us, Cornelius.' She folded her arms and presented Quaint with a cold glare. 'Think about it, my sweet: I arrive in Egypt to discover an unknown past from twenty years ago, when I was a friend to Aloysius – a man who just happened to be your old school tutor and father of your old flame! Meanwhile, you have allied yourself with a professor who just happened to be searching for the exact same artefact that Aloysius was seeking in 1833 – and just happened to be sponsored by the very same man.'

  'All just happenings, Destine,' said Quaint.

  'These are twists of fate, my sweet – they are not just happenings! Aloysius told me last night that his journal pointed the way, but I just assumed that he meant his account of Joyce's betrayal. He told me that I must warn others of the danger that sleeps beneath the sand. He said that I must warn them of the danger of the Eleventh Plague.'

  Quaint scowled. 'Now I'm even more confused. You just said that Aloysius told you this last night. I thought he was supposed to be dead.'

  'He is,' confirmed Destine. 'His ghost told me.'

  'His what?' asked Quaint.

  'His ghost,' Destine repeated.

  'His ghost?' asked Quaint.

  Destine stamped her foot resolutely. 'Merde, this is insufferable! This letter must have been hidden in the journal all along. Curse me for not spotting it! I could have saved us a long journey and a heap of trouble, Ahman.'

  Quaint turned to Ahman; he had forgotten he was in the room. 'Bedford's journal, can I see it?'

  'Yah, it is right here,' said Ahman, pushing himself unsteadily onto his elbows. He searched amongst his pile of clothes, frowning intensely. 'At least it…it was right here.' He produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to Destine. 'Look! You have written another letter! Perhaps this explains things in more detail, ah?'

  Destine's heart missed a beat as she darted to pick up the letter, but her anxiety quickly subsided. 'Non, mon cher, this appears to be a note from someone called "Pollyanna". It is not one of mine and I am thankful for that!'

  'Pollyanna?' asked Quaint, as he snatched the note from Destine's hand.

  The moments that it took him to read the words seemed to hang in the air for ever, and his face grew steadily darker by the second.

  'Oh, Polly…what have you done?' he whispered, before reading aloud:

  '30th December 1853.

  Mr Ahman, I pray that when you wake you can forgive me. Please know that I only have the truest intentions. As an archaeologist, just as Aloysius Bedford was, I have a zest to see the truth unburied. When he disappeared all those years ago, all his findings vanished with him, as well as his fantastic journal. There is enough in this book alone to spend a lifetime decoding. Now, at last I have a chance to complete the work that he began in Umkaza.

  Pollyanna.'

  Destine grabbed for Quaint's arm as he concluded the note.

  'But, Cornelius…if this woman has Aloysius's journal…then she knows where he buried the Pharaoh's Cradle! If she is going to Umkaza, then all my efforts to avert a tragedy will be undone!'

  'Was going to Umkaza, you mean,' corrected Ahman. 'Look at the date at the top of that letter. Today is New Year's Eve, ah?' The room fell silent as realization dawned. 'This letter was written yesterday.'

  'C'est mauvais!' said Destine.

  'It's worse than that, Madame,' said Quaint, chewing his lip. 'The Professor told me that she's got to get back to England in time for a function in her honour at Buckingham Palace…in the presence of Queen Victoria herself.'

  'But…if she has opened that tomb-' started Destine.

  'Then she'll be giving the Queen a hell of a lot more than just treasure,' Quaint said, completing the sentence. 'Just when I thought this thing was at an end…'

  CHAPTER LXVII

  The Unhappy New Year

  A SHORT TIME LATER, the atmosphere in Bara Mephista was the exact opposite of how Cornelius Quaint was feeling. The tavern erupted in a riotous uproar, with much singing and dancing and revelry, as Sobek and his Scarabs returned. Quaint's insides were churning and his mind was doing much the same, beset by thoughts of Polly.

  Sobek came over, clamping his hand onto Quaint's shoulder.

  'Well, my friend, we did it!' he cheered. 'My men and I dispersed to every location. We found Nastasi's Scarabs and defeated them soundly. They never knew what hit them! Many of them had questioned Nastasi's ploy and turned away from him, so blood did not always need to be spilled. Once the balance shifted in our favour, we managed to defeat the Hades Consortium troops as a united clan.'

  'And the poison?' asked Quaint.

  'All the vials were destroyed,' said Sobek. He gave Quaint's ribs a nudge. 'Not bad for a bunch of thieves, eh?'

  Quaint smiled. 'And what of Nastasi? I can't imagine the council will be too thrilled at his failure.'

  'The Council of Elders knew nothing about it!' replied Sobek. 'It was all a ruse on Nastasi's part. He claimed to have the council's backing when he rode into Bara Mephista…but when I contacted them, they had no knowledge of such an order. They will deal with Nastasi in their own way…and it will neither be pleasant nor painless – of that you can be sure.'

  'So what next? Do I call you Aksak Sobek?' smiled Quaint.

  'I await the council's decision…but Rakmun appealed for me and as the former Aksak's kin, that goes a long way,' Sobek said, staring out into the desert flatlands. 'Maybe we Clan Scarabs have outgrown the old ways. None of us are young men any more…and few of us have families or loved ones to speak of. Perhaps it is time that we considered the future. Your influence no doubt, eh?' he said with a heavy slap on Quaint's back.

  Rakmun strolled out of the scorched tavern and joined them. The young Scarab caught Sobek's eye and the larger man understood, making his way back into the tavern with a nod. Quaint turned to Rakmun, an expectant smile on his face.

  'My brother, Cornelius…he sacrificed so muc
h to save me from Godfrey Joyce's prison…and I never even got the chance to say thank you,' began the young Scarab. 'Many times I thought that help would not come. That I would die down there in that stinking cell and no one would even know. And then I would think of Faroud and I knew he would come for me. He should have known that he was risking everything by trying to free me. Yet it did not stop him.'

  'Your brother was one of the most courageous men I have ever known, Rakmun. It was an honour to fight by his side,' said Quaint.

  'I shall miss him, Cornelius.'

  'As will I, Rakmun…as will I.'

  'And now what of you?' asked Rakmun. 'I hear you are leaving.'

  Quaint nodded. 'For Cairo, straight away.'

  'I cannot convince you to stay and enjoy the revelry?'

  'Not this time. Something has come up and I need to return to England immediately. I just have to make a little stop in Hosni first,' replied Quaint.

  'Hosni?' Rakmun asked. 'What takes you to that place?'

  'A tricky situation of the female variety,' smiled Quaint.

  'Well, I wish you luck, Cornelius. If ever you are passing Bara Mephista again, our tavern door will always be open for you. And before I forget…Happy New Year!' Rakmun said, grasping Quaint's hand.

  CHAPTER LXVIII

  The Parting of the Ways

  THE SUN WAS rising and the red mountains that dwarfed the settlement bathed everything in shadow. Up on the incline, Madame Destine and Ahman walked.

  'Your mind is made up then? I cannot change it?' asked Ahman, his right arm in a makeshift sling.

  Destine shook her head. 'I am sorry.'

  'But…I do not understand, Destine. The danger has passed! Cornelius said the Hades Consortium was defeated…their base wrecked. There is no one left to fight. You belong here in Egypt, Madame…you belong here with me.'

  'Non, mon cher…I do not,' Destine said gently. 'If Professor North is not intercepted, she will succeed in delivering death to Queen Victoria's door. Cornelius will need me and my rightful place is by his side. That is where I truly belong.'

  'At what sacrifice to yourself?' Ahman clamped his eyes shut to deny the tears, but it was too little too late. They leaked from the corners, down his face, consumed by his bearded cheeks. 'Cornelius is a grown man…he does not need you any more!'

  'My dear, sweet Ahman…I do not expect you to understand, but I have my gifts of clairvoyance fully restored now. I can see what the future holds.' Destine paused, taking a slight breath. 'You are wrong about Cornelius. I have seen what is to come in his future and his trials are far from over. When he learns the truth, he will need me more than ever.'

  'The truth?' Ahman asked. 'The truth about what?'

  'The truth about his parents,' she said simply. 'Cornelius will pursue his enemy to the ends of the earth, muddying his soul until he becomes one with the darkness…and I fear it will destroy him.'

  Ahman watched the flicker of sadness in her eyes. 'And you will tell him?'

  'Non, monsieur, it is not a revelation that Cornelius can be told…it is something that he must learn…no matter how painful it will be.'

  The carpet trader looked at the fortune-teller and mouthed dry, barely heard words.

  'I know…and that is why I must say goodbye,' Madame Destine replied.

  CHAPTER LXIX

  The Lucky Conjuror

  SOME HOURS LATER, Cornelius Quaint stepped out of Rakmun's horse-drawn cart, leaving Madame Destine sat in the rear. He placed his hands on his hips and looked at the door to Alexandria Bedford's workshop, just as he had done only a few days before. He had opted for a change of clothing en route from Bara Mephista. A grey cotton shirt was tucked neatly into a pair of overlong khaki trousers, with thick braces stretched tight against his chest. Alexandria would surely approve. Despite his change in attire, his face displayed every inch of his recent adventure. Dust engrained itself into his wrinkled face, and the lines around his eyes spread out like dirty cobwebs. It was hard to believe that only three days before he had stood in the exact same spot nervously waiting to knock upon Alex's door, except then he was asking for aid – this time he had something to offer her.

  'I won't be long,' he said, reaching for Destine's hand.

  She offered him a brief smile, but she could not look him in the eyes – not just yet, her separation from Ahman was still so raw. She wore a white lace veil over her face and a band of golden trinkets was tied around her forehead. She looked every inch a fortune-teller once more.

  Quaint placed his hand flat upon the seamstress's door. He could feel the gentle vibrations of machinery inside and he knew that Alexandria was home. His heart rose and fell at the same time as he knocked upon the wood.

  'It's me…Cornelius,' he called.

  The sewing machine's row abated.

  Quaint hovered on his toes, waiting for the door to open, and for Alexandria to leap with joy into his arms, elated at his safe return. But he might have waited there all day and that would never have occurred.

  'You are still alive then?' Alexandria shouted from inside.

  'Just about,' replied Quaint.

  'What do you want, Cornelius?'

  'I promised to say goodbye, Alex…and I would much rather do it in person than from the other side of this bloody door!' Quaint responded, careful not to provoke the woman's temper. This conversation would be hard enough as it was, without a fight.

  After a long wait, Quaint heard the door's latch being lifted and Alexandria's brown eyes peered around the small gap at him.

  'Goodbye then,' she said, attempting to close the door, but Quaint jammed his toe in the frame before she had a chance. 'You might as well come in.'

  After an awkward pause, Alexandria finally accepted Quaint's company and he was offered refreshment, with her dropping 'You certainly look as if you need it' into the proposal. She brought a carafe of fresh orange juice and they soon retired to her rooftop garden.

  'I suppose I should congratulate you,' Alexandria said, seating herself.

  'For defeating the Hades Consortium?' asked Quaint.

  'No…for not getting yourself lynched by the Clan Scarabs,' Alexandria replied in clipped tones.

  'Ah, they're a bunch of puppy dogs once you get to know them!' said Quaint, with a wave of his hand. He had not expected a warm welcome – which was advantageous, as he certainly did not receive one – nevertheless, he had learned much of Aloysius Bedford's disappearance and Alexandria had a right to know what had happened to her father.

  'Sit, if you like. You are making the place look untidy,' offered Alexandria, sipping orange juice from her glass tumbler.

  'I'd rather stand, Alex…I don't have much time.'

  'I know you hate long goodbyes, but you have only just arrived,' laughed Alexandria, her dark eyes floating across Quaint's strait-laced expression. 'Let me guess…more obligations? Well, I suppose that I should feel honoured that you can spare me the time to say goodbye…it is more than I got the last time.'

  'Alex, I'm tired and I could really do without this, if it's all the same,' Quaint said. 'A lot has happened over the past few days.'

  'I have no wish to hear you boldly recount the tale of your adventure.'

  'Perhaps not…but you need to hear it anyway,' Quaint said firmly. 'It's important…it's about your father.'

  Alexandria remained silent. She sat on the edge of her seat and waited for Quaint to continue. And continue he did…

  'I've learned much of late…about myself, about the Clan Scarabs, about Egypt…and much about your father.' He paused, expecting an interruption, but none came. 'What I have to tell you will shake you, Alex. It will shake you to the core of your being…but I think it may just help to heal a few old wounds.'

  Ten minutes later, Cornelius Quaint had completed his tale, and he and Alexandria stood at the edge of her flat rooftop, their hands entwined.

  'My father…did not leave us of his own volition?' Alexandria said, her eyes sore with tears. They flo
wed effortlessly, twenty years' worth of pain. 'He sacrificed himself, you say…so that others might live?'

  Quaint held Alexandria's hand ever tighter, as if she was in danger of floating away from him. 'His last act was one of heroism, Alex, not of cowardice. Aloysius had to run away…but he was not running away from those he loved – he was running for them. He was infected with the disease. His death was inevitable. The only thing that he could do was get himself as far away from people as he could.'

  Alexandria felt herself falter and she stepped away from the roof's edge, almost falling into Quaint's embrace. 'That is good to find out, Cornelius. But how can you know that?' she asked.

  Quaint bit his lip. Your father's ghost visited a friend of mine and told her, sprang into his mind, but he thought better of it. 'Destine stumbled across Aloysius's old journal. It was all in there…word for word. Unfortunately, it was lost,' he said, happy with his discretion.

  'So I have wronged him all these years then? He was capable of compassion…of love…of courage.' Alexandria looked desperately into the conjuror's black eyes trying to find an explanation within them.

  'He was,' Quaint said, the words cooling on his lips. 'If he hadn't discovered what Cho-zen Li planned to do to the most intelligent minds in England, we could all be stuck in the dark ages by now! Your father gave his life so that others would live.'

  'I have carried anger for him in my heart for so long,' Alexandria said, and the tears fell relentlessly. She had long since given up wiping them away. 'How could I have wronged him so badly?'

  'You felt betrayed, Alex…no one can blame you for that,' said Quaint.

  'I can blame me!' she yelled, her eyes ignited with a raging inferno of self-loathing. 'I do not weep for him, Cornelius – I weep for myself. All these wasted years…the years of hating him and yet loving him at the same time. How can I bear to look at myself in the mirror? How can you bear to look at me?'

  Alexandria's body seemed to have trebled in weight and she could no longer support it. Shattered by guilt, she slumped herself deeper into Quaint's arms. How many people had she hurt over the years because she could never allow anyone to get close…never allow herself to trust? How long had she wrapped herself in a cocoon of such bitterness? How many men had she allowed herself to love? The answer to that was just the one…and he was stood by her side.