Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

It was another letter, an exact replica of the previous. As she turned it over in her trembling hands, she noticed the words: '2 of 3' written on the envelope's reverse.

'What is this?' she asked.

Ahman scratched at his beard. 'Ah, well…I did say you gave me two letters.'

The Second Letter

THE FURTIVE FORM of Heinrich Nadir stood at the alley's corner in Agra Bazaar, staring intently at the doorway of Ahman's carpet store. His quarry had been inside for well over an hour and he was getting restless.

Perhaps he had been careless and she had spotted him, making her escape through a rear exit. No, he had been vigilant, he was sure of that. His plan would all be for nothing without the Frenchwoman. She was still inside; she had to be. Even if she had seen him and recognised him from the Silver Swan, what did it matter? He was just an innocent sightseer, the same as she was. But he could not expect Godfrey Joyce to wait for ever for his prize. He folded his newspaper into the inner pocket of his jacket, just as Madame Destine appeared at the shop's doorway, closely followed by a small bald Egyptian. Nadir was intoxicated by this intriguing development.

By his appearance, it was obvious that the bald man was a local, but there was an intense argument ensuing between the two. He was certainly desperate to sell her a carpet, whoever he was. Perhaps this might scupper Nadir's entire plan. He would lose more than just face if he were to report to his employer of his failure – his life itself was forfeit. Deciding it required further attention, he removed himself back around the corner of the alley and silently observed, listening intently to every terse word carried on the back of the breeze.

'Madame, please understand – I was only abiding by your wishes! You cannot just go off like this,' called Ahman, rushing after Destine as she sped determinedly from his shop. Her dress billowed like a flag on a pole, and she clutched up handfuls of it within her fists, lifting the delicate skirts from the ground to ease her flight.

'Do not try to stop me, monsieur,' she warned. 'Bigger men than you have tried and failed!'

'But where are you going?' Ahman asked.

'Away from under this cloud of confusion!' Destine replied. 'I wish that I could trust you, Ahman…yet I do not feel I can trust anyone or anything any longer – least of all myself! Why did you not tell me about this other letter?'

'Back then, you told me not to!' Ahman protested. 'You told me that you had to read the letters in sequence…that one would not make sense without the other!'

'Well, I was wrong, for neither of them make any sense! The letters speak of a tragedy…but it is two decades old. Surely something so important would be the first thing you mentioned when chancing upon me in this bazaar – if indeed it was chance…for all I know, this is all part of some elaborate confidence trick and you are trying to take advantage of me just like those banshees in the marketplace!'

Ahman's face dropped as Destine's words stung at him. He looked at her, past her furious fortifications, trying to find a spark of the woman he once knew. It was not easy, for her anger was difficult to pierce. He only wished that she could remember who she was and see herself as he did. Although Destine had no memory of her time in Egypt, for Ahman the years had passed slowly. How he had missed her. How he had yearned for her. His Destine was in there somewhere; he knew that, and he was not about to give up searching for her just yet. He could not lose her again.

'I would never deceive you, Destine. Never!' he said. 'The envelopes were sealed! They were meant for your eyes only, and had I opened them, what good would it have done? They were written in your language…and I do not speak French, ah?'

Destine touched her hand to her forehead. She had to sit down somewhere and try to regain her sense of balance. She lowered herself onto a pile of stacked carpets outside the store.

Gingerly, Ahman joined her.

'Please believe me, Destine,' he said. 'I did not deceive you.'

'Ahman, I am so sorry…but please understand that I must place a lot of faith in your words, and faith in you – a total stranger. I thank you for your hospitality, but I have to return to my ship.' Destine tightened the knot at the rear of her headscarf and stood swiftly, keen to resume her course. 'Cornelius will be waiting for me.'

Ahman reached after her. 'Cornelius? But, Destine, after what the other letter said…how can you go to him knowing what will happen?'

Destine lowered her eyes to the ground. 'Because I have nowhere else to go.'

'I am your friend, Destine – if only you would remember me as such,' said Ahman, earnestly. 'You may have tasked this mystery to yourself, but that does not mean you have to accomplish it alone. We shall discover the truth together!'

'I do not think I could cope with much more truth!' Destine adjusted her corset and regained her composure. 'If I listen to my heart, I do know you as a friend, Ahman…but if the revelations within this second letter are to be believed, the road ahead will be long and arduous, and I do not know if I have the strength to walk it.' She pulled the letter from inside the sleeve of her dress and unfolded it, holding it with trembling hands as she read aloud:

'My dear Destine,

'This letter is the second of my three markers to you. I have done what I can to point you towards the truth, and I have laid the clues that you must follow. You must go to a sacred place where the sun's rays touch just twice a year. Seek the temple of the Shaded God, one that was once lost, but has since been found. There, you will find the answers to this great mystery, and the knowledge of what you must do.

'The truth is hidden within the third marker.

Of utmost importance is this: My visions have warned me that you MUST NOT involve Cornelius in this task, for your reunion shall signal the beginning of the darkest chapter of his life, where everything he once believed will crumble before his eyes. He must not face this peril until the time is right. You must promise me on this, Destine. Cornelius must be allowed to discover his own destiny in due course, even though in truth, it is that which is my greatest regret of all.'

'Whatever does she mean by that?' Destine said. 'Cornelius might be in grave danger, just as I foresaw before my prophetic gifts deserted me, but if I were to run to him, it would spell his doom…perhaps even his demise. How could I have forgotten something such as that? What has guided me here to you, and brought me in contact with these secrets hidden from my memory…and why now?'

'What makes you think you were guided here at all?' asked Ahman. 'From what you say, it is sheer blind luck that has led you back to Egypt.'

'I doubt it,' Destine replied. 'As you said, I purport that accidents rarely happen. If my experience with premonitions has taught me anything, it is that all things happen for a reason, Ahman. As much as Cornelius hates to admit it…everything is connected. It seems that I must collect every missing piece of my past and put this jigsaw back together again. But where do we start looking, mon ami?'

Ahman scratched frantically at his bearded jaw, watching a brand new Destine rise from the pile of carpets. 'Well, the first clue would seem to be this temple that we are supposed to travel to, ah? This "temple of the Shaded God". The letter called it "a sacred place where the sun's rays touch just twice a year". Whatever can that mean?'

'I wish I knew,' said Destine, hungry now to accept her task. 'And what is this in the centre of the page? This strange symbol seems more than just a random doodle. What is it supposed to mean? Could it be a clue of some kind?'