Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'But is such a thing within the Hades Consortium's grasp?' asked Faroud.

'Absolutely! The Consortium is more than capable of such havoc and so is that damned poison. I should know – I've seen it in action.' Quaint remembered only too well the ravaging effect that the poison had on his body in London – in truth, it was not something he would ever forget. It was as if someone had reinvented the definition of 'suffering' just for the occasion. 'Its potency is magnified tenfold by contact with water, which is why they chose the Nile. Just one damn vial of that poison is enough to do the job, polluting your lands, your cattle and your people – just one!'

'Vial?' Faroud asked numbly, as if he was talking in his sleep. 'This poison you speak of…it is held in a vial?'

'That's right!' confirmed Quaint. 'I managed to stop some of them in London, but God knows how many of them slipped through my fingers.'

'What does it look like?' asked Faroud.

'About six inches long with ivy etched into the glass,' said Quaint. 'Why?'

'That…was poison? I…I had no idea.'

Quaint's hardened expression slipped. 'You've seen them! Where, Faroud? Where did you see those vials and when?'

Faroud's eyes twitched left and right. He did not like being taken for a fool, for one thing, and he disliked even more being implicated in the plots and schemes of others. 'Godfrey Joyce instructed me to collect a delivery this morning that had come all the way from England…from an operative of the Hades Consortium in Al Fekesh. I saw those vials with my own eyes.'

'So who's this Godfrey Joyce fellow? What's his involvement?'

'He is the one who ordered me to apprehend the Professor. He is stationed at the British Embassy in Cairo as attache to Egypt, but he is also employed as a Hades Consortium spy,' said Faroud, being suddenly quite helpful.

Polly's eyes went wide. She recognised the name Joyce. He had signed the papers admitting her expedition into the country. But if that were the case, why would he want her cleared out of Umkaza?

'Someone in the British government is a Hades Consortium spy, what a surprise,' Quaint growled. 'And earlier at the tavern when I mentioned it, you asked if Joyce had sent me. So that intimates that you have contact with him, yes?'

Faroud nodded. 'I have a bargain with him…of sorts. But my communication is solely with Joyce, not with his employers. I was a delivery man. That is all! Joyce told me to collect the package and ensure that it was delivered to him at the British Embassy.'

'Is it still there?' Quaint asked.

'I do not think so,' Faroud replied, as if in a trance. 'He was going to take it to his masters in Fantoma.'

'And you were in on the deal?'

'No! I knew nothing of what the Hades Consortium planned to do with it! If I had, I swear…I would never have delivered it into their hands!'

'Now they have the weapon they needed,' said Quaint. 'Thanks to you.'

Faroud's mind was fighting hard to accept what he had known all along, but had denied. As Aksak, he was used to riding roughshod over whomever and whatever he pleased, but he rarely looked over his shoulder to see the repercussions of his actions. Now the ripples threatened to consume him. He had delivered the vials of poison into the hands of those who wished to use them against Egypt.

He was as guilty as they were.

'I…I had no idea it was poison, I swear to you. How could I?' he mumbled, his eyes searching the ground at his feet for answers. 'All I was told was to collect the casket from Nadir in Al Fekesh – that is it! I did not need to know its contents. I did not want to know its contents!'

'Nadir? Heinrich Nadir?' Quaint recalled the bothersome passenger aboard the Silver Swan. 'That stunted little worm was the Consortium's delivery man? But…that means the blasted stuff was right under my nose the whole way here! I knew I should have chucked him overboard. So this Godfrey Joyce – why would someone like him want Polly cleared out of Umkaza? What has that place got to do with this plot? Was that on orders from the British government, or the Hades Consortium? And how would kidnapping an archaeologist benefit them? Especially one like her!'

Polly wrenched her wrists purposefully, yanking at Quaint's arm sockets.

'What's that supposed to mean?' she squawked.

'Polly, please…this is important,' said Quaint.

'Umkaza is the key,' said Faroud. 'Joyce was most insistent that the Professor was not to be harmed…merely frightened enough to vacate Umkaza.'

'Why?' Quaint demanded. 'Why is Umkaza important to the Hades Consortium?'

'I cannot say,' said Faroud. 'I do not know.'

Quaint nodded. 'So what's next, Aksak? For all your crimes, surely you aren't just going to stand idly by as thousands of your countrymen are needlessly slaughtered? Now that you know what is at stake – help me! Help me stop it.'

Faroud's heavy eyes were bathed in shadow. 'But what can I do? What can any of us do? How can we stop what is already in motion?'

'Leverage,' said Quaint. 'We need Joyce over a barrel, and the Professor's dig site is the key! That place is obviously of some importance to him – and by association, maybe to the Consortium as well.' The conjuror could feel his energy returning in leaps and bounds, like a caged beast fighting to be free. All he had to do was talk himself out of trouble, a feat he had accomplished many times in the past. 'So what is your next move to be, Aksak Faroud? Are you with me – or do you accept your part in Egypt's murder?'

The Aksak paced again, stroking his beard in rhythmic tugs, in time with his footsteps. There was much to consider. Taking on the likes of the Hades Consortium was akin to suicide. Not just for him, but for his entire clan. He would be signing the death warrant of every man under his charge, and that was a decision he would not – could not – make lightly. Yet Quaint was right – he had given the enemy a weapon with which to strike out at his own people. At the least, he was a traitor…and at the most, an accessory to genocide.

'You have given me much to think about, Cornelius Quaint,' he said. 'We must return to Bara Mephista. I will sleep on this dilemma and consult the Council of Elders first thing in the morning. They will guide my decision.'

The Haunting Past

DESTINE HAD BEEN asleep for several hours, yet Ahman had not closed his eyes once. Few travellers used the roads by nightfall, so they would be safe – and yet still he could not relax his guard. The strange episode that had bewitched the Frenchwoman only a few hours before occupied his thoughts mercilessly. He sat against the tree like Destine's guardian angel, his eyes snapping to any sound around him. The lapping of the lake nearby, the gentle rise and fall of the wind across the cold sand, the digging of small rodents against the trees – every noise seemed to trigger his nerves. Ahman glanced over at Destine's peaceful form, the embers of the fire illuminating her soft features in a golden glow, and pulled his blanket up to his chest. Eventually, he let sleep embrace him.

As night took hold, Destine became restless. She rolled in her sleep, mumbling and whispering. Her eyes snapped open, searching for Ahman by her side – but he was not there. His blanket was lying crumpled and cast aside on the cold sand.

A sudden scream pierced the silence. Destine's first thought was of Ahman, and steeling her nerves, she threw off her blanket and rose to her uncertain feet. Taking gingerly steps, she pushed through the ring of trees, their sharp branches pricking her exposed face and hands. Her eyes and ears were aflame. She was being pulled. Pulled through the trees, pulled through the edge of the clearing…but pulled where? And towards what?