Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'Don't worry, Professor…I'll do that,' Quaint said, with a wolfish grin.

A little way further, Polly peered through the darkness as drips of water pelted her bare arms and face. 'It's cooler in here,' she said, taking a long sniff. 'And there's a lot of moisture in the air.' She stopped dead in her tracks, and Quaint nearly crashed into her. 'Listen…what is that? Do you hear that?'

Quaint could hear it all right.

Raised voices echoed in the stillness of the tunnel, emanating not just from behind them, but from seemingly all around. The pursuing Clan Scarabs were screaming obscenities and curses – quite distinctly too.

'They're close. And coming this way,' said Quaint.

'How many do you think?' Polly asked.

Quaint furrowed his brow. 'At a guess I'd say all of them.'

The raucous barks and yells of their pursuers rapidly increased in volume, building to a vicious crescendo. Both Quaint and Polly were fluent in Arabic, but even had they not been, the Scarabs' message was all too clear.

Quaint and Polly scrambled down the cave tunnel as fast as they could. The sharp rocks of the walls tore at their arms and legs as they went but they did not stop – they could not afford to. Trouble was coming, and it was coming very quickly. The Scarabs were close, only a matter of yards away.

Quaint pulled the Professor along by her wrist – much to her very vocal disgust. Cloaked in plumes of choking dust, they skidded down the steep incline of the tunnel as the uneven surface beneath their feet threatened to jar their bones from their sockets. Quaint's boots pounded at the ground, unable to gain purchase on anything. Polly was careering dangerously close to the tunnel wall, her momentum forcing her to twist and turn with every footstep.

Just ahead, Quaint could make out an orange glow. 'We're nearly there! Just hang on!'

He covered his eyes as the light blinded him. His foot made contact with a protruding rock and he only just managed to steady himself. All would probably have been well had Polly not stumbled over the same rock and smashed into him like a rutting stag. He fell a good three feet and then hit the rocky ground like a lead weight – then Polly crashed down on top of him. Caked in thick layers of coarse brown dust, they looked as though they had been dipped in cocoa powder.

Knuckling the dust from his eyes, Quaint noticed something.

It was the sharp end of a sword, and as the conjuror's eyes followed the length of the blade up to the hilt, he met Aksak Faroud and his band of ferocious Clan Scarabs.

'I thought we were dead,' spluttered Polly, wiping dust from her eyes.

Quaint's heart sank. 'Hold that thought, Professor.'

The Death Downstream

THE BAND OF Clan Scarabs dragged Quaint and Polly to a larger cavern within the vast cave system, and bound them together at the wrists either side of a massive column of rock that breached the ground. Wooden stakes were planted into the ground in a circle, and Aksak Faroud patrolled around the limestone column like a lion surveying its prey.

'I should have killed you the moment you set foot in my camp, Cornelius Quaint,' he said, and he punched his fist into the conjuror's ribs. 'But then I would not have discovered who you are…and what you want!' Faroud paced and he punched, he paced and he punched repeatedly – each one sending a lance of pain through Quaint's body. 'You have disrupted what was to be a night of celebration,' he sneered, as the veins on his sinewy neck squirmed, 'and for that alone, I shall kill you and make your woman watch!'

'For the last time…she's not my woman,' mumbled Quaint.

'And you make such a lovely couple.'

'Now you're just being unkind,' said Quaint. 'Just do whatever it is you plan on doing to us – and get it over with!'

'After all the trouble you have caused me? Oh, no, Mr Quaint, the least I can offer you is a death more befitting such a thorn in my side!' He snatched Polly by her ponytail and teased a dagger along it like a bow across the strings of a violin. 'The Sioux Indian tribesmen roaming the American plains have a tradition. They remove the scalps of their enemies to adorn their clothing as a mark of triumph in battle. It is a macabre tradition, I admit, but I can see its appeal. Perhaps seeing the Professor begging for her life will wipe the smugness from your face, Mr Quaint!'

'Don't mistake smugness for a considerable amount of pain,' said Quaint.

'And I will enjoy adding to that pain.' The Scarab's dark face flashed a broad smile as he released Polly. 'You are an interesting man, Mr Quaint. You seem to be affiliated with the Professor here, and yet you know of the Hades Consortium. For obvious reasons, those two worlds do not mix well. Who are you? Why are you here in my country?'

'I told you why! And I came to you hoping your Scarabs might know something…something that I could use against the Hades Consortium,' Quaint answered. 'Now…you can choose to do nothing and watch as your people slowly die around you, or you can help me put a stop to it!' He breathed awkwardly, the act obviously causing him discomfort. 'You say you don't believe me…but if there's a chance that I'm telling you the truth…even the slightest possibility that the Nile is going to be poisoned…can you really afford to risk ignoring it?'

'You still cling to this ridiculous idea that the Hades Consortium is out to poison the Nile?' asked Faroud. This Englishman was becoming more intriguing by the second. Even facing death, he was possessed of such conviction. 'And suppose I give your words credence…what would you want of me?'

'Our lives for one thing,' answered Quaint. 'Your help, for another.'

Polly strained against her bonds – causing the conjuror to scream as she nearly wrenched his arms from their sockets. 'Quaint, are you some sort of idiot? You don't need his type of help! He's a Clan Scarab – nothing but a damn animal, you said so yourself. And you want to ally yourself with a bunch of scavenging vultures like them?'

Faroud lifted his dagger and reflected torchlight into Polly's eyes, blinding her for a moment. 'Professor, need I remind you that you are still my prisoner? It would not be a wise idea to insult my men in such a fashion. And what of this plot, Mr Quaint? Why does it concern you – a foreigner to this land?'

'Not just me, Aksak…it concerns you too. Or at least, it should…as well as each and every other Egyptian!' replied Quaint. 'As I said…I only need information…information that you can provide.'

'Yes, but information about what, exactly?'

'You tell me – you work for the Hades Consortium!' blazed Quaint. Irrespective of his peril, his ire did not back down for anyone or anything. 'They ordered you to kidnap the Professor for some reason, and I want to know…how does that fit in with what they're planning for the Nile?'

'I was hoping you would tell me,' said the Aksak. 'I am sorry to say, Mr Quaint, but you are wrong.'

'About what?' asked Quaint.

'About who it was that ordered me to capture the Professor.' Faroud slapped his hands to his face, barely able to contain his glee. 'I am glad that I kept you alive, if only to see the smile wiped off your self-righteous face when you learn the truth!'

'So…you do know the truth then?' Quaint said. 'Then it looks as if you might be able to help me out after all.'

'And yet…you have not told me exactly why I should,' said Aksak Faroud. 'This plot you speak of…why should I get my clan involved in such a thing?'

Quaint spoke. 'Once the Hades Consortium unleashes its poison, the Nile will become a river of death. This country cannot function without it – you know that. You cut off the river, and it'll be like cutting off Egypt's blood supply!'