Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'There are your targets, meine freunde!' Nadir said. 'When the order is given, you may kill the male…but whatever you do, ensure that the female is unharmed or the Hades Consortium will have your heads. Whilst the Frenchwoman is certainly valuable, she is but the bait to snare an even greater prize.'

The Distressing Damsel

CORNELIUS QUAINT KNEW that walking boldly into Clan Scarab territory was always going to be a gamble, but he maintained a fondness for gambles – especially when the stakes were high. As things stood, for him (and for Egypt) the stakes were astronomical.

'So, Chullah,' said Quaint (now on first name terms with the bartender), 'what time can I expect your Aksak to arrive, anyway?'

'When he gets here,' replied Chullah. 'As I said…he is on Scarab business some miles away. He should be back before nightfall. Why did you wish to speak with him again?'

'I have a question that I hope he'll have the answer to,' replied Quaint.

At that moment, the tavern door was wrenched open, and a guttural voice spoke an inch from Quaint's ear:

'And what would that question be, stranger?'

Quaint turned around to face the grim-faced Clan Scarab leader standing in the open doorway of the Bara Mephista tavern.

'Aksak Faroud, I presume?' Quaint asked.

'You have me at a loss, Mister…?' asked Faroud, narrowing his gaze.

Quaint opened his mouth to speak. 'My name is-'

'Surely you remember your old friend Cornelius Quaint!' said Chullah.

'Friend?' asked Faroud.

Quaint could almost hear the ice cracking beneath his feet.

'Yes, from your old pickpocket days in Cairo! Your secret is out, boss – Cornelius here has been telling us some wild stories of your childhood together!'

'Has he now?' asked Faroud, eyeing the conjuror curiously. His voice was tempered and calm but his eyes bubbled away furiously, barely restrained.

'This man is a wonder, Aksak! He has been showing us miracles with a deck of cards – just do not play blackjack with him, eh? I have lost two bottles of gin already!' grinned Chullah.

Aksak Faroud ignored the bartender's cheer and leaned closer to Quaint.

'Whoever you really are, stranger, it seems that my men have warmly accepted you…otherwise I would have had to step over your corpse on my way in. However, you will find that it takes more to appease me than fancy card tricks.'

Quaint winced. 'Well, they weren't exactly tricks. You see-'

'Silence!' yelled Faroud at the top of his voice. The atmosphere in the tavern became a static moment in between breaths as every pair of Scarab eyes surveyed the stand-off between Faroud and Quaint. 'You are in my world now…and in my world, I make the rules.'

'Good policy,' said Quaint. 'Keeps any visitors in check.'

'We receive very few of them here,' said Faroud. 'Those who know of our presence steer well clear, and those who stumble across us by accident do not live to boast of the tale. You must either be very brave…or very stupid. Which is it?'

'That depends on who you ask,' Quaint replied, pushing his luck.

'What do you want here?' demanded Faroud.

'I just need information…and it's a matter of life or death,' said Quaint.

'The Clan Scarabs are not an information service, stranger. I hope your journey here was worth it, for it will be the last you ever take.' Faroud drew a dagger from a scabbard at his waist, and thrust it against Quaint's neck. The blade grazed the conjuror's Adam's apple and he dared not swallow. 'If you thought you could just walk into my camp and request information, then you must have a lust for death…and I am only too willing to feed it! Now tell me, what information could a man like you possibly expect from a man like me?'

'The Hades Consortium,' Quaint wheezed.

The words had a remarkable effect on Aksak Faroud, and he released the blade at Quaint's neck. 'Did Joyce send you?'

Quaint shook his head. 'Never heard of him.'

'So what do you know of the Hades Consortium?' demanded the Aksak.

'A bit,' replied Quaint. 'I know what they're capable of, and I know what they're planning to do in Egypt very soon. The real question, Aksak Faroud, is: what do you know?'

'I can see that you are determined to pique my curiosity, Mr Quaint' said Faroud.

'I hear that a lot,' Quaint quipped.

'So speak on,' urged Faroud, tightening his grip on his knife once more.

'Righto,' sang Quaint. 'The Hades Consortium is planning to deposit a consignment of highly toxic poison into the River Nile at New Year.' He slid his finger inside his collar and touched gently at the thin wound on his neck, taking a brief look at the dab of blood on his fingertips. 'You wondered why I would come here knowing that I was risking my life? To see an end to their plot is why, so I need to know whose side you are on, Aksak: the Hades Consortium's…or Egypt's?'

Quaint was relieved to see Faroud's full interest flicker into life.

'My mother always said I was too curious for my own good,' said the Aksak, replacing his knife into its scabbard. 'You have just earned yourself a reprieve, Mr Quaint. We shall discuss this further once I have concluded my other business. But if I fail to be impressed by your explanation, you will be begging to die.' Faroud snapped his fingers and several of his men barged into the tavern obediently.

Quaint watched the procession of Scarabs with keen interest. As the last man entered the tavern and pushed past him, Quaint noticed that he was carrying someone kicking and screaming over his shoulder. By the shapely rear end, Quaint could tell it was a woman, and for one awful moment he thought it was Alexandria – until the woman cursed at her captors – a series of unmistakably unladylike oaths – and his heart relaxed. Alex would never use such colourful language – unless it was aimed in his direction. Whoever this woman was, Quaint had a nagging suspicion that she was about to disrupt all his best laid plans…

'Take her out back. I will join you in a moment,' Faroud said to his men, then spun on his heel back to Quaint. 'I must leave you for a time…time that you should spend thinking of a reason why I should not stake you to the ground and let the vultures peck at your carcass.'

Quaint grinned boldly. 'Well, for one I'm all gristle. Not good for the digestion.'

'Your wit is not endearing you to me, Mr Quaint,' said Faroud.

'I hear that a lot too,' said Quaint.

Aksak Faroud led Quaint to a small booth at the rear of the tavern, obscured by a ragged curtain. The Aksak ripped the curtain open and ushered Quaint to take one of the two chairs at the table. Two Scarab guards armed with curved swords approached and waited for their leader's commands.

'Watch this man,' said Faroud. 'If he becomes a nuisance, quieten him.'

As he slid himself into the confines of the chair, and as the curtain around him was drawn, Quaint heard Faroud's footsteps resound against the wooden floor. He heard a door directly next to him open, and then slam shut.

Chullah scuttled into the booth and placed a bottle on the table. As he removed the cork stopper, a sharp scent of anise flooded Quaint's senses.

'You like absinthe, Cornelius?' asked the bartender.

'I'm not sure "like" would be the correct measure of my appreciation, Chullah. The last time I had some, I felt as though I'd played ten rounds of croquet.'

'That sounds like fun!'

'As the ball?'

'Well…if you want my advice – enjoy the Aksak's hospitality whilst it lasts,' said Chullah, as he poured a glass of the pale green liquid. 'And I would think very carefully about how long you wish to live for.'

'It's crossed my mind, believe me,' said Quaint.

Once Chullah had gone, Quaint strained in his seat to hear the conversation in the room next door.