Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

Seeing a massive burst of orange-white light up ahead, Quaint moved unerringly towards it. The tunnel opened up as he pressed on, and there ahead of him, standing in a large cavern, was Aksak Faroud, with his Clan Scarabs fanned out around him. Many held torches and the cavern was bathed in amber light as they listened intently as their leader's grinding, rasping voice echoed about them.

'Professor North?' Faroud called through cupped hands. 'It is useless to hide from us! We are many and you are but one…and a woman, at that. Enough of these pointless games, give yourself up!' He paused, giving Polly a moment to identify her location, but nothing came back. 'The night is almost upon us and even if you escape, where will you go? The desert stretches for miles in every direction; you will be dead before you reach the nearest settlement!' His fellow Scarabs whooped and hooted at this possibility; Faroud held up his hands to silence them. 'We are in no rush, Professor…if it takes us the entire night, we will flush you out.'

The Scarabs froze, awaiting a response. Nothing.

Quaint smiled. At least Polly was keeping her mouth shut for once. Responding to Faroud's taunting would quickly give away her position.

Faroud cursed under his breath. 'Scarabs, split into groups…scour everywhere,' he growled, stabbing his torch into the ground. 'I want every shadow lit and every stone lifted until that damn woman is found!'

Quaint watched from his hiding place as the pack dispersed. Soon the cavern was bathed in silence, and he cautiously moved from his spot. He tugged at his ripped shirt. Blood had seeped through his makeshift bandage and his sweat was making his wound sting like acid. He looked down at the injury, just as a drop of something struck his shoulder. He gently touched his fingertip to it and took a closer inspection.

It was a dab of red blood.

'You can come down now, Professor. They've gone,' he said.

High above his head, clinging to a series of stalactites, was Polly North. She dropped down onto the floor next to him. Her face was smudged with a mixture of dirt and sweat, and she was sporting fresh grazes on her cheek and arms – telltale signs that she had come the same way as the conjuror. She dusted off her khaki trousers and blouse, and stooped down to snatch up Faroud's discarded torch from the cavern floor.

'Thanks for not giving me away,' she said, and set off.

Quaint grabbed her arm. 'What the hell do you think you're doing? Don't go that way! There are twenty Scarabs waiting for you down there!'

Polly rounded on the conjuror, wrenching her arm free of him. 'Now you just listen to me, Mister Quaint! I'm an archaeologist. I've been in more catacombs than you've had hot dinners – I know where I'm going.'

'So do I,' said Quaint, 'the wrong way! We need to head back the way we came in.'

'Are you insane? They'll have posted guards at all the exits!' shrieked Polly.

'Not any more, I took care of them,' said Quaint. 'Look, it's the safest way for us to go, all right?'

'No, it's damn well not!' snapped Polly. 'That way still leads to their camp, and I have no intention of going back there. And what's all this "us" claptrap? You're a conjuror, right? So why don't you magic yourself out of here. Me – I'm going to take another way out!'

'What way?' asked Quaint.

'There are signposts all over this cave if you know where to look and what to look for.' Polly lifted the torch up towards the cave roof. 'Did you not spot those calcium carbonate deposits up there?'

'Do I look like a cave expert to you?' shrugged Quaint.

'Mr Quaint, you don't look like an expert on anything to me,' Polly said with a stony glare.

'There's no need to be rude,' said Quaint.

'Let me spell it out to you: the further north we go into these caves, the more limestone is present…and the more limestone is present, the more moisture there is filtering down through the earth from above. Those calcium carbonate deposits up there – stalactites, to the layman – are formed by the build-up of sedimentary minerals found in water.' She glared at Quaint's baffled expression. 'Did you not pay any attention at school?'

'I must have been absent the day we did caves,' said Quaint sarcastically.

'Well, if there are stalactites, that means there is water nearby!' Polly said with a triumphant smirk. 'Faroud said that we're miles away from the nearest settlement, and he probably wasn't bluffing, but if this cave system is near water…and north of Bara Mephista, then my best guess is that it must be the River Hepsut, flowing through the lowlands until it reaches Nespa Point. So, we follow the stalactites north, and we find a way out.'

'No one likes a show-off, Professor,' said Quaint.

'Look, I don't care what you do, but I'm getting out of this place before those Scarabs catch up with me. Now, you can stay here and wait to die, or you can come with me – as long as you don't slow me down.'

'Slow you down?' Quaint spat ferociously. 'Look, I came here to rescue you – at considerable risk to my own well-being, might I add – the least you can do is show me a little gratitude!'

'I don't need rescuing by the likes of you, Mr Quaint,' Polly stormed.

Quaint's temper rose swiftly. 'Those Scarabs are animals, woman! No matter what their employer wanted from them, all bets are off. They're going to kill you – and you say you don't need rescuing?'

'You misheard me. I didn't say I didn't need rescuing,' replied Polly. 'I said I didn't need rescuing by the likes of you! Look, if you want to come, you'd best make up your mind.'

There was a low rumble behind them. The Clan Scarabs were on the move.

Immediately, Quaint's priorities were back in order.

'You're the professor…Professor,' he said.

'And as long as you remember that, we'll get on just fine!' Polly snapped, heading into the darkness with her torch held above her head.

Muttering a silent prayer, Cornelius Quaint followed her…

A little way further, the walls of the cave closed sharply, forcing them to walk through in single file. Polly led from the front, her smaller build enabling her to slide easily through the gaps in the rocks. But Quaint was not so lucky. The rocks constantly snagged his bulky frame as if they had taken an instant dislike to him.

'What are you doing here anyway?' Polly asked, as she manoeuvred her way through the confines of the enclosed tunnel.

'Someone had to keep an eye on you,' Quaint said, knowing his arrogance would infuriate her – and he was quite right.

'I don't mean in these caves, man – I mean back in Bara Mephista!' Polly crackled back. 'What was your business with Aksak Faroud and his band of not so merry men? Nothing pleasant, I'll wager.'

Quaint asked, 'What do you mean by that?'

'Well, look at you! You're obviously some sort of a scoundrel,' was the reply.

'A scoundrel?' baulked Quaint, taking offence. 'A scoundrel would be miles away from here by now saving his own neck! A scoundrel would just leave-'

Polly spun around and jabbed her pointed finger into Quaint's chest. 'Don't you dare call me a helpless female, or then you really will be in trouble!'

'No, of course not. You are anything but…clearly. I was going to remark that a scoundrel would leave without giving you a second thought. I came to Bara Mephista seeking information – and I was doing all right in getting it until you poked your nose in! So right now you're my best bet of getting out of this place.'

'I agree…we need to get out of these caves as quickly as possible,' said Polly, 'that is if your constant blabbering doesn't give us away. Come with me if you must, Quaint, but just keep your mouth shut and watch my back,' she said curtly, as she crawled on her hands and knees, squeezing her ample backside through a tight gap in the rocks.