Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'As you wish, Herr Faroud,' said Nadir, as he lifted the wooden casket from the sack, and placed it on the cellar floor.

Aksak Faroud crouched down to inspect it, and Nadir saw the entirety of the man for the first time. He was in his early forties, wearing a long, ragged robe from head to toe. Clothes of function, not fashion. The garb of a desert rider. His eyes were tainted by grey shadow, and his fingernails were dirty, as if the man had just crawled out of his own grave. Faroud held the lantern over the box and ran his fingers across the engraved pattern of a sideways-tilted figure of eight – the mathematical symbol for 'infinity'. Lifting the lid, he saw twelve inlaid grooves, nine of which contained cylindrical glass vials, whereas three pockets were empty. He reached inside the box and pulled out one of the vials. It was roughly the size of his index finger, with decorative, ascending ivy etched into the glass.

'Mr Joyce will be most pleased,' Faroud said.

'I am sure that he will. But if he is pleased by that, then he will be positively ecstatic when he hears what else I can offer him,' said Nadir.

Faroud raised an eyebrow. 'Explain.'

'There was a woman onboard the ship. A Frenchwoman by the name of Madame Destine. Now, I have proof that she is possessed of a fantastic gift…and one that would suit a man like Herr Joyce's needs most spectacularly,' explained Nadir.

Faroud's stony expression did not budge for a second. 'And what makes you believe that this woman would be of interest to Mr Joyce?'

'She is able to see the future!' Nadir saw the look of distrust flicker in the Egyptian's eyes and spoke quickly to seal his words. 'I am serious, Herr Faroud. She travelled here with an Englander…the very same man that I was ordered to kill, yet he evaded my best efforts to do so.'

'An Englander?' Faroud's dark eyes narrowed into slits. 'How frequently they have come to desecrate my country! I have killed many who have tried.'

'Good for you,' chirped Nadir. 'And would Mr Joyce not profit greatly from a woman who could predict the future at his merest whim?'

Faroud pondered for a moment. 'This was not part of my agreement. I am merely supposed to collect this casket and deliver it to the British Embassy. However, your words give me pause. I will take you to Mr Joyce. If you can convince him of this woman's worth, perhaps he will let you live.' Faroud offered a tentative smile towards the German. 'Perhaps.'

The Two-Faced Man

AT THE EMBASSY in Cairo, Godfrey Joyce was not a happy man. Far from joyous at the best of times, this morning he was possessed of a particularly foul distemper. He was facing pressure on all sides, and not all of it courtesy of the British government, for Mr Joyce was a duplicitous man. He had successfully juggled careers both as British attache to Egypt and as a Hades Consortium spy for several years, feigning servitude to Her Majesty Queen Victoria whilst secretly plundering the Empire's secrets. It was Joyce's foremost desire to gain higher notoriety within the Hades Consortium's inner circle, and he was fully prepared to sell his soul to achieve it. However, the urgent communique that he had just received was not sitting well on his portly stomach. His employers had requested his delivery of a certain casket, and with the Hades Consortium, a request was always construed as an order.

A gentle knock on his office door disturbed his discomfort, and a plump young man entered. 'Good morning, Mr Joyce,' he said cheerfully. 'It seems you have two gentlemen to see you this morning. Aksak Faroud, of your previous acquaintance, and one other gentleman. A rather unkempt individual, if I may be so bold, sir. They aren't in the appointment book, so I thought I had better check with you.'

'Faroud, eh? Oh, don't you worry about that, Reginald. He's got something of interest for me I hope,' Joyce said. 'Send him on in, lad.'

Joyce twisted around a small mirror mounted on his desk, checking his appearance studiously. His russet-red hair was greased flat against his head, sweeping down his pale face into two mutton-chopped sideburns that formed a thin moustache resting on his top lip. He was in his late forties yet his hair had a youthful vitality to it, apart from bushy eyebrows that perched like two white doves on his prominent brow. Despite the youthfulness of his hair, Joyce's face did not lie as easily. It was wrinkled with heavy-set jowls under his chin, clearly displaying his age for what it truly was. Like the man himself, Mr Joyce's face was one of conflicting allegiances.

A cough alerted him to another's presence as Aksak Faroud entered the office.

'Good day, Mr Joyce. I have the consignment from England, as requested,' he said, placing the rough sack on Joyce's desk.

'Excellent work, Aksak,' Joyce said. 'I know a certain young woman most anxious to get her claws on this.' He pointed at Nadir. 'And who is this? I didn't realise the Clan Scarabs were in the habit of picking up strays.'

Nadir offered a polite, but brief, bow. 'Herr Joyce, my name is-'

'I wasn't talking to you,' snapped Joyce, steering his eyes to Faroud.

'Apparently he is called Nadir, the delivery man from the Hades Consortium, the one that transported that casket from England,' answered Aksak Faroud.

'I am a little more than a mere delivery man,' said Nadir. 'I come to you, Herr Joyce, to inform you of an important development.'

Joyce looked mildly interested. 'You're not here bringing yet more bad news from our mutual employers, I trust?'

'Thankfully not,' said Nadir. 'In fact, I bring news of the highest quality. I have travelled from England to deliver that consignment as arranged, but there was something of far greater interest aboard the ship.' His beady eyes floated around the office, never settling in one spot for long. 'On my journey I met a very charming Frenchwoman. She is part of a travelling circus, acting as a teller of fortunes, but unlike most in her trade, her clairvoyant gift is genuine.'

Joyce snorted in sudden annoyance. 'Have you been at the gin, man? A fortune-teller? Those charlatans are two a penny down any side street in Cairo, what makes you think this one is worth my notice?'

'Her gift has been confirmed by an impeccable source, Herr Joyce, and one that carries all the confidence of the Hades Consortium, let me assure you,' said Nadir.

'And I take it that Lady Jocasta wants this fortune-teller for herself, does she?' asked Joyce.

Nadir shook his head. 'The Hades Consortium is not yet aware of this woman, Herr Joyce, nor her abilities. I came to you first.'

'Did you indeed?' said Joyce. He pulled a cigar from an ornate tortoise-shell box on his desk, and took a deep inhalation, savouring the rich taste of the tobacco permeating around his mouth. When he decided to speak, he locked eyes with Faroud and spoke without any hint of emotion: 'Aksak, take this stunted simpleton out of my sight at once.'

'Wait, sir – you must not dismiss this so swiftly!' pleaded Nadir.

'Why not? It's utter nonsense, man! Even if I believed a word of it – which I don't, by the way – what possible value could she be?' barked Joyce.

'Value, Herr Joyce?' Nadir's tongue darted from his mouth to coat his lips. 'Surely you can see that she is of the utmost value! Foreknowledge of the future would give any man ultimate power!'

A fog of cigar smoke masked Joyce's expression from Nadir's sight, but if the German could have seen it, he would have noticed a glimmer of interest.

'Yes…yes, it would. That sort of power would be of great interest to many, Mr Nadir…myself included.' Joyce rolled the fat cigar between his lips, coating the tip with strings of saliva. 'If it is true…if this woman really can see the future as you claim…then she would be a very valuable acquisition.'