Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'But…why?'

'Because he needs me,' the Frenchwoman replied.

'Rubbish! Mr Q doesn't need anyone!'

'He likes people to think that, true…but as you said, I have known him all his life. Far better than most. Better than he knows himself, in fact. Soon, he will be in most desperate need of a guiding light…and I must be there for him,' said Destine, with an audible lament to her soft tones.

'But…what about us? What about me? I need you too! You're the only person that I can have a decent conversation with around here without you breaking wind, talking in riddles or bouncing around the place like a rubber ball. Losing Mr Q is one thing, but losing you as well? How on earth am I supposed to cope without you?'

Destine smiled warmly, fresh tears in her eyes. 'You will cope just fine, Ruby.'

'But…I don't understand. After all we've been through recently…with what happened to Twinkle, and Prometheus being locked up. Why do you want to go?'

'That is just it, my child, I do not…but I must,' replied Destine. 'Before my clairvoyant gifts became clouded with interference, they left me with a tantalising souvenir…a vision of something that is to occur in the near future. It is connected to the plot that Cornelius is hell-bent on preventing, I am certain. That is why I requested to accompany him on his voyage.'

'And it's bad news I take it?' asked Ruby.

'With Cornelius is it ever anything but?' smiled Destine. 'With my gifts absent, I cannot translate the true meaning behind what the vision was trying to show me, but even so the message was clear.'

Ruby could not resist asking, 'And…what was it?'

'Dark times are coming, my dear Ruby,' Destine replied. 'Dark times for Cornelius…and possibly for us all. The words in my vision still haunt me even now. "The past and the present shall entwine once more. Beware the dawn of the Eleventh Plague." I can only assume that it refers to Cornelius's impending quest. After all, was Egypt not visited by ten biblical plagues? The poisoning of the River Nile would certainly fit amongst their number. With my prophetic gifts playing hide and seek, it is like taking a leap of blind faith, and I must accept much. It is most disconcerting for a clairvoyant to be faced with an unknown future, Ruby. I only pray that the fog in my mind will clear once we arrive in Egypt.'

'But what if it clears too late?' asked Ruby.

'I do not know, but I have to try,' replied Madame Destine, taking Ruby's hands within her own. 'Cornelius is about to take the first step on a path that will be long and difficult, and the more that he progresses, the darker the path will get.' The Frenchwoman smeared her wrist underneath her eyes, wiping tears from her cheeks. 'I fear that if I am not there to guide him back to us…he will be lost for ever.'

The Unfriendly Negotiations

CHRISTMAS WAS LESS than a month away and scenes of revelry were not limited to the platform of Grosvenor Park station. In keeping with the season, all throughout London traders were busy selling roasted chestnuts in crowded market places, carol singers congregated on many a street corner, and the sound of brass instruments filled the air. Despite the onset of the season, however, there was one man severely lacking in any good will.

'This is getting rather monotonous, Ferret,' snarled Cornelius Quaint, sucking hard on his bruised knuckles. 'For the last time…what you know about the Hades Consortium's plans for the River Nile? Where is that damn poison?'

The owner of the neck that Quaint's other hand was wrapped around wheezed pathetically before collapsing onto the cold, wet cobbles of the fogbound alleyway.

'I already told you, Mr Q – I dunno what you're on about, I swear I don't!' Bob Ferris ('Ferret' to those unfortunate enough to know him) was a loathsome individual who had crossed Quaint's path before. Lacking in many redeeming qualities, his only speck of worth was that he was often party to insalubrious information. Few aberrant activities in London failed to reach his ears, and on a night such as this, Ferret's particular variety of information was vital to Cornelius Quaint's quest.

'Why don't ye let me have a go at loosenin' his tongue, boss?' growled the colossal Irishman at Quaint's side, his brush-bristle beard twitching as he spoke. 'I'm gettin' fidgety just stood 'ere twiddlin' me thumbs…especially when I'd much rather be breakin' his.'

'Keep it at the forefront of your mind, Prometheus,' said Quaint calmly. 'We'll try the nice approach first. If this worm still refuses to talk, we'll up the stakes.'

'Look, I swear, Mr Q, I don't know nuffin' about any poison,' Ferret spluttered, getting up and wiping his fingerless-gloved hand under his nose.

'If there's one thing I abhor, it's bad grammar, and double negatives stoke my coals something chronic,' said Quaint, sucking air between his clenched teeth. 'I don't have all night to play games, Ferret.'

Still Ferret protested. 'But I don't know nuffin' about none of it!'

'I warned you about that grammar!' Quaint punched him in the face, and a fine seam of blood trickled from Ferret's nostril. 'Let me make this easier for you, Ferret…I know that poison is headed for Egypt, and I know what the Hades Consortium plans on doing with it once it gets there. I just need to know where it is right now. A man in your line of work – and I use the word "work" loosely – is surely in receipt of such knowledge.'

'Please, Mr Q, I can't tell you,' Ferret whimpered.

'Can't?' said Quaint.

'This is the bloody Hades Consortium we're talkin' about, Mr Q – they'll do me in!' pleaded Ferret.

'One of their crimes that I will applaud,' said Quaint. 'Ferret, you are one of the most despicable little parasites in all of London. You feed off lies and deceit like a maggot feeds off dead flesh, and even Cheapside's rats take a bath after they've been in your company. You could die right here and now in this gutter, and not a single soul on the face of this earth would mourn you.'

'Look, Mr Q, I'd love to help you, surely I would, but if I spill me guts, I'll be dead by the end of the week!' spat Ferret.

'And if you don't you'll be dead by the end of this conversation,' parried Quaint.

Ferret's tear-stained eyes appealed to Quaint's better nature – which was a wasted effort, for the caustic conjuror was devoid of one. 'You…you wouldn't do me in…would you, Mr Q?'

'Me? Certainly not!' trumpeted Quaint.

'Thank you, sir! Thank the Lord!'

'But I didn't invite my gargantuan friend here along for his good looks,' said Quaint. He motioned over his shoulder to his Irish cohort, and Prometheus took a step closer to Ferret's quivering form. 'I'm beginning to tire of this. Prometheus, grab his hands. Break one of his fingers for every minute that he refuses to talk.'

'What happens when I run out of fingers, boss?' asked Prometheus.

'The human body has over two hundred bones in it, my friend.' Quaint leered as close to Ferret's stench as his tolerance would allow. 'We could be at this all night until we run out of things to break.'

Ferret's bottom lip trembled and he slid down the alley's brick wall, sniffing into his hands. 'All right, Mr Q! You made your point. Just…just call off your dog! Maybe I do know sumfin',' he said, with a deflated sigh. 'I was in the Blue Boar last night and there was this foreign bloke, pissed as a newt. He was on about shippin' sumfin' to Egypt, and I heard him say the name of the bloke he was takin' it to. Said his name was Al somebody or other. Al Fekesh, that's it!'

Quaint's black eyes narrowed. 'He said that name – are you absolutely sure?'

Ferret's glassy eyes blinked in earnest. 'I'd bet my life on it, Mr Q!'

'If you're wrong, Ferret…I'll be back to cash in that bet,' said Quaint.