Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

Lying in the centre was a beaten, brown-leather book.

Destine looked up at Ahman, who greeted her silent questions with his usual aplomb.

'Well, my dear?' he said. 'Do not keep me on tenterhooks.'

Opening the cover, Destine cleared her throat and read aloud: 'Journal begun August 1833 – Aloysius Bedford, Archaeologist.'

She looked at Ahman, wide-eyed. 'From my letter! So he was an archaeologist!'

'Evidently so, Destine…now read on,' nudged Ahman.

Destine complied, turning the yellowed pages of the old journal carefully, as if it were an ancient manuscript found in a dusty old library. She skipped past illustrations of what appeared to be ancient artefacts. Various pieces of jewellery, figurines of catlike deities and hawk-headed deities adorned every page. Once she had discovered the first entry in the journal, Destine began again:

'Soon I shall set forth to the dig site in Umkaza, and this journal shall assist me in keeping track of all that occurs upon this excavation. My sponsor speaks well of Umkaza, a place that he proclaims to hide a veritable feast of artefacts beneath the sand – but I have heard that before. Although I do not leave until tomorrow, there is still much to prepare. The Museum of Antiquities in Cairo has agreed to loan me a crew of diggers – however, they neglected to mention that the men did not speak English! I have consulted some of my colleagues, and they have managed to procure the services of a Frenchwoman to assist me, who is reportedly fluent in most languages, including Arabic. Madame Destine Renard is scheduled to arrive within the month.'

Destine looked up from the journal.

'A translator?' grinned Ahman. 'I suppose this solves the riddle of how you were able to understand Feron Mouk back at Sekhet Simbel. Please do go on, Madame…this is fascinating, ah?'

'This delay is a hard punch to my spirits!' continued Destine, as keen as Ahman to reveal elements of her own past.

'I only hope that once we begin digging I will have worthy results to show my benefactor. If he is right, Umkaza is one of three possible resting sites of the fabled Pharaoh's Cradle. That prize is a treasure of such magnificence! The very crib used by Rameses the Great – it is astounding to think that it might soon be within my hands! Should my hard work unearth such a wonder, my life would be changed for ever…for the better, I might add. I can hardly contain my enthusiasm.'

'I know just how you feel,' said Destine excitedly, stroking the inked words upon the page. 'This "Pharaoh's Cradle", Ahman…whatever it was, Aloysius was obviously quite enthralled by it. "A treasure of such magnificence," he says. Are you familiar with it?'

Ahman shook his head. 'Rameses the Great's crib? The very soul immortalised within Sekhet Simbel? No wonder this journal was placed there…but I have never heard of it, Destine, and I think the answer to that may be obvious considering that this is not just a treasure hunt…it is a hunt for the truth of what happened to Aloysius. He obviously was destined never to find his great prize.'

'You mean…because Aloysius never found the Pharaoh's Cradle?' asked Destine.

'Yah…the poor soul,' Ahman said. 'You can almost feel the sorrow in his words.'

'I can feel it, mon ami,' admitted Destine. 'Most clearly, in fact…from the page right into my head…almost as if this book were trying to speak to me. The more I read, the less distant the past feels somehow…as if this book is trying to repair my connection to my lost memories. Not all of them yet, and not with any clarity…but instead of a blank canvas, gradually I am beginning to see shape and form…and colour.' She turned the page, and read on.

'Madame Destine has arrived on the ship from England to begin her work as my translator and her first words to me were of her sleeping arrangements! No complaints about the long journey, or the banal conversation of my driver. Sleep was the foremost concern on her mind! If only all my employees were so easily pleased. Now my work can commence in earnest. The Madame seems a most remarkable woman, fluent in several languages including French, Italian, English and Arabic. She has such knowledge in her eyes – almost as if she is at peace with everything. My crew have quite taken to her, and have nicknamed her "Madame Dusty" for she is always willing to crawl around in the sand alongside them. She is not one afraid to get her hands dirty, and that has ingratiated her much with the men – as it has done with me. She may just turn out to be the lucky rabbit's foot that my crew need to find our prize.'

A flourish of embarrassment painted Destine's cheeks, and she was forced to pause for breath. 'My!' she whispered. 'Aloysius speaks highly of me, and in great detail, yet I cannot recall him for a moment. How strange this is.'

'Not strange at all, my dear,' Ahman said, tugging at his beard, 'for he obviously remembers you just as I do.'

Destine turned the pages swiftly, eager to consume more. 'Sucre bleu, Ahman – listen, just a few days later!

'It is astounding! Proof without doubt that somewhere beneath Umkaza's sands lays the Pharaoh's Cradle, and soon I shall unearth it. Yet, with my triumph comes great concern – I cannot shake the feeling that I am merely the horse pulling the plough and someone else will be picking at the furrows long before I get a chance. My foreign sponsor has put me in touch with the port administrator, a chap named Godfrey Joyce. He has recommended a local guide who claims to know Umkaza well. I would prefer not to share our glory with anyone – especially an outsider – but I am beholden to circumstance.'

Madame Destine's voice faded, and Ahman looked over at her.

'My dear, are you feeling all right?' he enquired.

But Destine ignored him. It was as if she were unable to hear him, or as if she had forgotten that he was even there. She rose to her feet, seemingly entranced. She began to pace around the sand, and Ahman experienced an emotion he thought never to feel in Destine's presence – fear.

'I am very sensitive to emotions, Aloysius, and the only emotion I sense from Joyce is deceit,' she snapped, her voice severe. 'I pray that I am wrong…but you must be mindful what you tell him about the Pharaoh's Cradle.'

'Pharaoh's Cradle?' repeated Ahman.

The words seemed to snap Destine from her trance and she raised a hand to her forehead. Ahman leapt to his feet, only just catching her as she wilted into his arms. Laying her gently down onto the blanket, he smoothed the hair from her face. He had no idea what sort of spectacle he had just witnessed. Destine was like a stranger, speaking words with an unrecognizable edge to them. The excitement of the day had obviously caught up with her, Ahman suspected, combined with the heat and the journey from Agra. It had been a long day for them both.

Ahman looked around; it would make a suitable camp for the night, with the surrounding trees protecting them from the lake's chill. He rose to his feet and pulled a woven blanket from the rear of his cart, covering Destine's slumbering body.

'No more truth tonight, my dear,' he whispered. 'Your past will just have to wait until tomorrow, ah?'

The Hunted Quarry

WITHIN THE BELLY of the mountain, Cornelius Quaint followed the sound of raised voices through the twisting, turning tunnel. It was just about large enough for him to walk through at a stoop, but every so often a protruding edge of rock forced him to navigate his broad shoulders through the tight gap. Moving faster than a slow walk was virtually impossible, not to mention downright painful. His shirt snagged on a jagged outcrop, slashing a six-inch wound to his forearm that bled profusely. Not nearly painful enough to deter him, he tied his neckerchief around the wound and continued his pursuit.