Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'Hasty? I take offence, Faroud.' Quaint grinned like a truant child enjoying a day's freedom from school. 'My plan has been carefully devised – which is a hell of a lot more prepared than I usually am on these little affairs, let me tell you! When it comes to the Hades Consortium, it pays to be well organised. New Year's Eve is but two days away, and if Joyce is as slimy as you say, no doubt he'll want to earn himself a gold star and hand me over to his bosses, which is just fine by me. Once I get inside the Consortium's nest, he's all yours.'

'Yes, but what if he sees right through our plan?' asked Faroud.

'It doesn't matter. The end result is the same,' said Quaint. 'Joyce's actions are easy to predict – he'll betray us at the first opportunity. At its root, the Hades Consortium is merely a machine…and all machines rely on well-oiled cogs to power them. If we take one of those cogs out – in this case, Joyce – with any luck, the machine will fail.'

'You seem awfully familiar with the Hades Consortium,' said Faroud, a nagging thought buzzing around his head. 'The Clan Scarabs have been encamped deep within Egypt's heart for decades, and we have never set eyes upon any of them, save Godfrey Joyce – yet we know they are there. For a circus conjuror from England, how exactly do you know so much about them?'

'I wasn't born a conjuror, Faroud,' answered Quaint simply. 'In my past, the road of my life has verged with the Hades Consortium on more than one occasion. Although I've tried to steer well clear of them, it seems that Fate has other ideas.'

'I see,' said Faroud. 'I just assumed that they had wronged you in some way…that it was personal.'

'Oh, it's personal all right!' said Quaint, as if it should be obvious to even the most simple of minds.

Faroud pondered the reply. 'And may I ask what they did to hurt you?'

'Not me,' said Quaint.

'A lover, perhaps?' enquired Faroud.

'Not a lover…but people I loved.' The conjuror hissed a low, inaudible sigh through his teeth as he countered the discomfort of the memory. 'The Hades Consortium murdered my parents.'

The Awkward Questions

THE MAIN DOORS to the British Embassy opened slowly to reveal a gaunt-faced butler with a thin, wispy moustache and black hair stretched across his scalp like oily bootlaces. His false smile faded quickly as glanced at the dust-clad forms of Cornelius Quaint and Aksak Faroud.

'How may I be of service to you, er…gentlemen?' the butler asked.

'I am here to see Mr Joyce. I have a gift for him!' growled Faroud, holding a knife to Quaint's throat. He played his part well – a mite too well, in the conjuror's honest opinion. 'And before you ask – yes, it is important, and no, it cannot wait!'

The butler stepped back, allowing the two men entry, and he led Faroud and Quaint through the corridors on the ground floor to Mr Joyce's assistant, Reginald, who was seated at a desk in an open foyer. As they approached, the young man looked them up and down objectionably.

'These two gentlemen are here to see Mr Joyce,' the butler said. 'Apparently, it's important.'

'Don't bother looking us up in your appointment book, son – we're not in it. Just hurry it up and take us to see Joyce,' said Quaint.

Reginald's lower lip floundered. 'Um…without an appointment, sir?'

'Yes, without an appointment!'

'But, sir, that's highly irregular,' complained the young man.

'Listen, son,' said Quaint, boring his steely black eyes into Reginald, 'we can stand here and debate irregularities, or you can announce us to Mr Joyce right away. It's your choice, but my knife-wielding friend here is keen for his blade to taste blood, so it's either going to be yours or mine. Obviously, I'd prefer it to be yours, and I think so would your maid, because blood has a tendency to stain the carpets…especially mine.'

'I'll announce you right away!' snapped an anxious Reginald.

'Good lad,' piped Quaint.

Reginald knocked upon the door and opened it a fraction, just enough for his chubby face to squeeze through. 'Mr Joyce, you have someone to see you, sir…the same chap as yesterday morning, with another fellow…and, um…they aren't in the appointment book again, sir,' Reginald said, as if the blame for such slack protocol lay fairly and squarely on his slumped shoulders. 'I told them it was most irregular!'

'Faroud is here? Right now?' Joyce asked, trying to feign surprise. 'All right, lad, show him in.'

Outside, Faroud whispered into Quaint's ear. 'Just keep quiet and let me to do the talking! We need to find out my brother's location before we go breaking things.'

'Am I not always the picture of restraint?' said Quaint.

'Do I really need to answer that?' Faroud said, pushing him into the office.

Joyce rose from his seat and beamed a wide smile. 'Well, this is an unexpected surprise! I was not aware we had an appointment today, Aksak.' Joyce could not resist a curious inspection of the conjuror. 'Why is it that every time you come to my office you bring a stray with you? Who is this one, might I ask?'

Faroud nudged Quaint in between the shoulder blades and the conjuror crashed down clumsily onto Joyce's desk. 'He was found wandering near Bara Mephista's caves by my men. He claimed to be lost, but when we took him back to our camp he began asking some awkward questions.'

'What sort of awkward questions?' Joyce enquired.

'About the Hades Consortium,' replied Faroud.

'Oh?' Joyce raised one of his white eyebrows. He relaxed himself into his chair, allowing the charade to play itself out until he could be surer of his footing. 'What have you to say for yourself, man?' he asked Quaint. 'Who are you and what were you doing sniffing around the Scarab camp?'

'Cornelius Quaint,' Quaint said, with a polite nod. 'This is all some dreadful misunderstanding, sir. You see, I hadn't realised the caves were off limits. There are no signs or anything to warn a passing scientist.'

'Scientist?' asked an increasingly curious Godfrey Joyce.

'Yes, sir,' confirmed Quaint. 'I am here in Egypt examining calcium carbonate deposits in the Bara Mephista region, it being so near to the River Hepsut and all. I was en route to Nespa Point, but got a little sidetracked. I merely stumbled into this nice gentleman's encampment seeking proper directions.' His response was calm and earnest, and it raised an interested glance from Faroud, who almost had to question the authenticity of Quaint's story, he was that convincing.

'And what of these questions you were asking about the Hades Consortium?' inquired Joyce. 'How would a scientist know of such an organisation?'

'I might ask that of the British attache to Egypt, sir,' Quaint replied, mustering a whiter-than-white expression.

'I happen to have direct contact into Whitehall, sir!' said Joyce. 'The government is familiar with that group, although no one is quite convinced of their existence. So tell me, Mr Quaint, I don't recall seeing any official documents requesting your secondment here. Might I ask which universities or academies you represent?'

Quaint began to answer but then stopped. He was taken by something in the air, as if someone nearby had just called his name. Intense furrows upon his brow, he took a brief sniff of the air, sensing a flash of recognition. It was a familiar scent…but try as he might, he could not place it. It passed in an instant and he paid it further thought.

'Mr Quaint?' Joyce rasped. 'I asked what college you represent.'

'Oh…lots,' mumbled the conjuror. 'I'm what you might call an adviser.'

'Yet you were asking questions about the Hades Consortium,' said Joyce.

'Well, it was more of a passing comment than an actual question, really.'

'In the middle of a Clan Scarab encampment?'