Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

No wonder Cornelius recommended this place, thought Destine, it will keep me out of his hair for hours.

She walked along the main street and into an explosion of people. All the many and varied shops' doors were carved into the rock-faces, each one a tiny cave of wonder, their facades painted in bright colours to entice the passing consumer. Destine was sorely tempted more than once, but she resisted. She knew that it was unlikely she would see Cornelius before nightfall – perhaps longer if Joran decided not to show his thieving little face again – so for now, Destine was happy floating about from shop to shop and from one stall to the next.

The unfolding bazaar and its wonderfully eclectic people occupied her attention completely. The swarm of colourfully dressed people's myriad emotions were playing havoc with her increasing sensitivity to them. Proud boasting, desperate pleading, unyielding begging – the whole spectrum of emotions was open to her, and Destine had to consciously muffle the noise from her mind. Just by being off the ship and able to stretch her legs, she had forgotten all about losing her clairvoyant gifts. Usually they were her guide as she navigated through life, but here in Agra Bazaar, she felt very much at home, and very much at peace. It was understandable after all. In such a public place, what could possibly cause her harm?

Plenty – was the answer.

As Destine manoeuvred her way through the street, she was oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. Heinrich Nadir followed her every move from a small table outside a tearoom. He paid close attention to the elegant woman's ports of call, lest she strayed too far from view. His two very deadly aces up his sleeve were held in reserve on the bazaar's outskirts. The Hades Consortium assassins would stick out like sore thumbs in Agra, and he did not want to risk frightening the Frenchwoman away. Too much was resting on her capture – more even than Godfrey Joyce was aware.

Blind to the attention she had garnered, Destine meandered along the concourse until she reached the bazaar's central square. Colourful banners and flags from the buildings' flat rooftops blew in the breeze. There was a large stone spire set into the centre of the square; around it tall wooden masts were dotted randomly. Lanterns were affixed midway up the masts, and streamers and ribbons were tied around every one, fluttering in the light wind. The whole place was alight with an atmosphere of colour and vibrancy. From out of nowhere, a scent floated lightly upon the air and stirred Destine's senses. She was reminded of her youth in Toulouse as the smell of freshly baked goods wafted past her nose, and she tried to recall the scent.

Cinnamon bread – that was it!

It was unmistakably cinnamon bread. Destine was stunned. But surely she was mistaken. It could not possibly be coming from within Agra Bazaar, could it? She was surrounded by stalls selling smoked fish, marinated chickens and spiced-lamb skewers, and there seemed nowhere capable of producing such an extravagant and familiar smell. It tugged at her senses, and she was desperate to find it. Leaving the hustle and bustle of the central marketplace, Destine moved towards the alleyways that branched in every direction.

Down a nearby lane, a gaggle of women gossiped like starlings at dusk. As Destine passed, one of them darted out her hand and grabbed at her wrist. Destine was stopped in her tracks as the Egyptian woman stroked her long, flowing dress and flashed a mouthful of haphazard teeth at her. She spoke with a rasping, guttural hiss and Destine knew it was not a friendly invitation to join in the conversation. This woman wanted money. Destine tried to pull her arm free, but in a flash the woman's friends rounded upon her, enclosing her within a tight circle. Destine was shoved violently against the brick wall. She felt a hand snatch at her neck, at her wrists, and more hands grabbing at her – invading her, picking at her bones. Holding up her arms to defend herself, Destine begged the women to stop.

Although the assault seemed to last for ever, it was over within seconds.

With a sudden eruption of laughter, the women pushed Destine to the ground, towering over her with an assortment of jeers and sneers…and then they were gone. They darted down an alley and around a corner, disappearing into the maze of streets like fleeing rats.

Rising to her feet, Madame Destine steadied herself against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her necklace of pearls was gone, as was her charm bracelet; even her earrings had been forcibly ripped from her ears.

'Merde!' she cursed, thumping her hand against the wall. 'You foolish old woman, what were you thinking…wandering off alone?'

She stared down the alley in the direction the women had fled. Potent adrenalin buzzed around her veins, and Destine allowed herself to become inflamed by it. With her fists clamped into tight balls of fury, she set off in swift pursuit.

Rounding the corner of the alleyway she looked all about, but the women were nowhere to be seen. She cocked her head, listening above the hubbub of the marketplace, above the rattle of horse and carts, above the shopkeepers' boasts. She heard a raucous laugh from somewhere down the labyrinth of alleyways. Recognising it as her attacker, she set off after the thief. She moved past a small corner store selling carpets and flattened her body against the sandstone wall of an alleyway, trying to pinpoint her foes' location. The laughter was louder now, and she visualised the gang of women picking through her possessions. Destine approached the corner of the wall as quietly as she could. She tensed herself, ready for the confrontation and leapt into the alley with her fists raised.

The alley was empty.

The women could have been anywhere within the maze of side streets, and Destine's adrenalin would no doubt subside long before she found them. She was just about to turn tail and head back into the main marketplace when once again her senses were inflamed. It was that luscious scent of cinnamon bread. She looked around, using her nose as a compass, desperate to track the source of the smell.

And then she found it.

The carpet store that she had just passed beckoned her towards it. The smell was emanating from the store's rear window. Destine moved across the street swiftly, as if the store might vanish at any moment. So determined was she that she failed to see a horse galloping towards her at speed.

'Look out!' a man's voice yelled.

Destine spun around as the large, black shape loomed upon her like a great dark cloak. Something slammed into her body, wrenching her neck back like a rag doll, pushing her from the horse's path. She landed on the pavement, her fall cushioned by several rolls of soft carpet. Her eyes rolled, waiting for gravity to resume control. Lifting her head, she made out a blurred image of a dark-skinned man astride a large black horse in the street. He was cursing madly at her, raising his fist in the air. Destine slumped back down onto the carpets, trying to summon the strength to move. Her scattershot mind was flooded with questions – not the least of which being: 'Who is this strange little bearded man looming above me?'

'That was quite a tumble!' the man said. 'Had I not pushed you out of the way, it might have been far worse, ah?' The stranger was short and stocky, with a thick white beard skirting the circumference of his round face. Tiny spectacles sat askew on the bridge of a once-proud nose, and tufts of downy hair sprouted from the sides of his bald head. Most intriguing of all; there was something about his large, brown eyes that captivated Destine.

Something almost…familiar.

'Are you all right?' the little man enquired. 'You are liable to get yourself killed, standing in the street around here. Did you not see that horse?'