Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

Seated next to the Italian was his protegee, Lady Jocasta. Her jet-black hair was tied into a long ponytail, interwoven with golden strands of decoration – although she needed none, for her beauty was captivating enough. Her dark eyes sparkled intensely, and her complexion glowed, exquisite in its texture. Although still an apprentice, Lady Jocasta was a powerful architect of chaos in her own right. Born into an affluent and influential Greek family, she had grown bored with an abundance of wealth and sought to entertain herself with more challenging pursuits. One day on the streets of Athens, her recklessness brought her into a fateful encounter with the Baron when she had tried to pick his pocket. Seeing qualities within the young woman that he could make use of, he took her under his wing, indoctrinating her into the Hades Consortium. Both were cut from the same cloth – a brooding vulture and a calculating viper.

'I must apologise for my lateness,' Joyce said, his palpitating heart choking his words. 'My driver was unfamiliar with the territory in these parts.'

'Buona mattina a voi,' Baron Remus said, waving away Joyce's words with a swipe of his hand. 'My apprentice has been eagerly awaiting this delivery for some time, Signor Joyce. A few hours will not kill her.'

Lady Jocasta's eyelids fluttered. 'Is that it? Is that the consignment from Renard?'

Joyce lifted the sack and slid it along the table. 'Yes, my Lady.'

'Signor Joyce, well done,' commended the Baron, as he stroked his striped beard, tugging at chunks of grey bristle on his chin. 'Your lackey in the Clan Scarabs performed his duty well. We should enlist him for our own uses.'

'Those damned Scarab dogs!' Lady Jocasta hissed. 'I do not know why we must resort to employing such diseased thugs!'

'Now, Jocasta, you know very well why,' appeased the Italian, his deep, baritone voice booming off the dry cavern walls. 'Should the need arise, those "diseased thugs" will make ideal sacrificial lambs. As you will learn one day, cara mia, the secret of good business is making alliances with those who are expendable. And do not let it slip your mind that had your plot in London succeeded we would not need the Scarabs' aid at all.'

Lady Jocasta bit her tongue. Her teacher's words were like vinegar on a cut, but he was right. It was his way of exerting his superiority, and she had no choice but to take notice, for the alternative was not a pleasant one.

Godfrey Joyce's eyes flicked to ground. 'Baron? My Lady? Do you still require my services? It's just that I have other matters at the Embassy to attend to.'

'Of course, Signor Joyce…you may go,' said Baron Remus. 'But continue to monitor events in the Black Sea and report back when you have news. I am most anxious to hear when the British Empire is thinking of throwing her lot in with the Ottomans. I have spent months laying the foundations and the Hades Consortium has much to gain from such a conflict.'

'As you wish, Baron,' said Joyce as he turned on his heel. He walked down the stone steps as quickly as he could without breaking into a sprint, eager to be as far away from Remus and Jocasta as soon as possible.

Remus stood swiftly and glared at Lady Jocasta as if she were his most hated enemy. His large nostrils flared as he gripped the backrest of his chair until his knuckles turned almost as white as his bared teeth.

'Why must you continually question me in front of others?' he seethed. 'I have a reputation to uphold and I will not see it whittled away in front of the lowers! I am your teacher, and as such you need to mind your tongue, cara mia…lest I order it removed! The Clan Scarabs are essential to the Consortium's anonymity in Egypt. Should anyone decide to sniff around our movements, they will take the fall. Are we clear on this?'

'Yes, Baron, of course,' said Lady Jocasta.

'And be wary of Joyce,' continued the Italian, his rage abating. 'His lust for power has not gone unnoticed. He does not care over whom he tramples.'

'Agreed,' said Lady Jocasta. 'Joyce is an integral part of my plot, but when it is done he will cease to be of any use to us. My plan will be a success, I swear to you!'

The Baron scratched at the marble table with his fingernails, fighting an obvious irritation. 'So you say…but still I await assurances. It is time that you explained in detail this plot of yours. Why can we not just dump the poison in the Nile and forget about it? Why must we wait?'

'If it is assurances that you seek, teacher…then I shall give them to you.' Lady, Jocasta reached across the table for a large roll of parchment and unfurled it, revealing a map. 'This represents the length of the Nile,' she said, tracing her finger along the river's course. 'Each year the Nile floods its banks, known locally as the spiritual awakening of the year. The flooding has signified the rebirth of this land for generations, and the ancient ones even built their calendar around it.'

'Spare me the history lesson, Jocasta,' growled Remus. 'Details.'

Lady Jocasta continued with haste, seeing the impatience within her teacher's eyes. 'Once the flooding subsides, it leaves behind large tracts of black silt all along the Nile's banks. The silt is rich in fertile moisture, and Egypt comes alive once more. On New Year's Eve, the poison will be dispersed where the Nile's current is strongest. It will not only lay waste to half the population of this country, it will lay dormant in the silt, polluting agriculture for years to come. What brings life to Egypt will eventually deliver its death…over and over and over again and nothing can turn back the tide now.'

The Familiar Strangers

STOOD OUTSIDE THE small tailoring establishment in Hosni, Cornelius Quaint felt an unanticipated smile creep onto his lips. It was an odd feeling looking at the sand-whipped paint on the shop's door, as if a tiny piece of him was coming home. Above the rattling din of a pedal-powered sewing machine, a woman's voice could be heard singing away from the other side of the door. Quaint knocked his knuckles hard against the dry wood, and immediately the noise abated. A beautiful woman with a mass of wild dark hair and even wilder dark eyes swung open the door.

'What do you want?' she demanded, looking Quaint up and down as if he had arrived at her door purely for her personal inspection.

'A "hello" would be nice,' Quaint teased. 'Is that any way to greet your visitors?'

Unrestrained inside her blouse, the woman's ample bosoms sashayed back and forth and Quaint was unintentionally mesmerised. 'Are you going to tell me what you want, or do you intend to stand there all day gawping at my chest?'

'Can I give me a minute to decide?' smiled Quaint.

She slapped his face and he quickly made up his mind, redirecting his eyes.

'You are English, am I right?' the woman asked. 'All Englishmen think they are so charming, with their pleases and their thank yous. Well, do not think for one moment that I will fall for any of your mucking about. Charm does not work on me – only money! And I hope you are not going to ask for a discount, because I do not do discounts.'

'Alex, will you shut up for a moment and let me speak?' said Quaint.

'How do you know my name?' the Egyptian woman asked.

'Because it's me!' Quaint insisted.

The woman's face glowed with a spark of recognition.

'Cornelius? Cornelius Quaint?' She quickly bundled him inside her premises, slamming the door shut behind him. 'Come inside, I am so glad to see you!'

Quaint looked at her dubiously. 'You are?'

'Of course – you owe me money!' exclaimed the tailor. 'And it is Alexandria, not Alex, if you please…I am a grown woman now.'

Quaint's eyes were drawn back to the woman's breasts. 'It hadn't escaped my notice.'