Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

Just outside the city of Fantoma, the band split into two groups, with the conjuror's advance guard heading towards the ruins of the ancient city, whilst their backup team moved into position in the shadows of the imposing Mount Zahi. Cornelius Quaint rode steadily at Faroud's side whilst Kulfar and Nehmet rode ahead of them. Godfrey Joyce led the pack from the front in his horse-drawn cart. Faroud looked at Quaint as they cantered towards the high walls of Fantoma. Although the conjuror's hood obscured his features, the Scarab leader could see the look of disquiet upon his comrade's rough, lined face.

'Joyce reeks of suspicion. We were wise to suspect a trap,' Faroud hissed.

'Suspecting a trap is one thing…expecting one is something else,' Quaint replied.

'I take it you have a backup plan?' asked Faroud.

Quaint grinned unabashedly. 'Aksak, if there is one thing you should know about me by now, it's that I always have a backup plan.'

The ancient site at Fantoma was just one of the glittering gems within Egypt's crown. Construction had begun as far back as the sixteenth century BC and, as a consequence, the ravages of both time and the weather had left their scars. Even so, just one look at the deserted city's many towering columns and walls – each one engraved with grand inscriptions by the phantoms of the past – was all it took to raise a lump in the back of Cornelius Quaint's throat.

In his lifetime, he had visited many ancient cities and places of worship in the Orient, South America and India, but none had more of a vibrant connection with the ghosts of the past than Fantoma. Huge multistorey buildings, crumbling and fading more by the day, nestled next to ornate obelisks and columns of white stone that pricked the azure sky. A bleached white shroud of dust covered every building and every monument, as the centuries of harsh Egyptian weather eroded former works of art and colourful decorations. Now everything looked the same, as though a master artist had created the landscape but with just one colour to his palette. Skilfully detailed carvings, scriptures scored into stone, venerated deities etched into the rocks – proof that not all of Egypt's treasures were to be found buried under the sand.

The small band traversed down a slender corridor between two huge edifices, no wider than ten yards, with high sandstone walls on either side. Godfrey Joyce looked over his shoulder, held up his hand, and pulled his cart to a stop. As Quaint and Faroud trotted towards him, he spoke:

'This is the main entrance, next to this temple, chaps. The passageway descends underground from here, and grows very slender on the way so I doubt the horses will make it.'

On foot through the high-walled passage, they entered a large building decorated with an array of mythical-looking beasts around its parapets. At its base at ground level, former artistic glories were only visible as etched scoring and flaky pockmarked artwork. Quaint wondered how magnificent the city must have been in its prime, but he could not allow Fantoma's grandeur to blind him to the dangers that lurked beneath the sand.

They found themselves heading down a steep incline, into a darkened tunnel carved from the rocks beneath the foundations of the building above. This dim place was bereft of both light and air, and something sent a chill up Quaint's spine. In such a narrow place, were they to get trapped down there, they might never get out. Quaint had, indeed, filled his pockets with tools from the Scarabs' armoury, and out of Joyce's sight, he deposited several explosive sticks upon the ground where a breach in the rocks led to the outside.

He mouthed the words 'Backup plan' to the Scarab leader, who greeted the sight with a roll of his dark-rimmed eyes.

The small band ventured through the maze-like tunnels in silence. Eventually, at the end of one dimly lit by a succession of mounted torches on the walls, they reached the pair of carved stone doors that signalled entrance to the Hades Consortium's sanctorum.

'We're here,' said Godfrey Joyce.

Quaint readjusted the hood of his commandeered uniform.

'This is it,' he whispered to his band of men. 'Play your parts…and wait until we're in deep before revealing yourselves.' Then he took a step towards Joyce. 'Just remember I'm right behind you. If you so much as think about double-crossing us, you'll feel my sword between your shoulder blades quicker than you can blink.'

'You are quite the motivator, Mr Quaint,' sneered Joyce.

'I hear that a lot,' muttered Quaint.

Joyce pushed hard against the doors with both hands, and their hinges complained noisily against each other, announcing the group's arrival better than a doorbell. Joyce stood pensively in the doorway, expecting the guards at the entrance to announce themselves. To his apparent surprise, the other side of the vast stone doors was completely deserted.

Quaint stepped forward gingerly, listening for any signs of habitation. There was nothing. No sound at all.

'Where is everyone?' he asked his comrades in arms.

Faroud shrugged. 'I do not know…but we should make the best of our luck!'

The group were just about to move into the main cavernous lair, when their ears heard a trembling sound. It was difficult to pinpoint its exact location; it seemed to be echoing from every direction at once. Quaint's mind tried to evaluate the noise.

It was footfalls, and lots of them.

'I think our luck just ran out,' he said grimly.

The Wedge

LINES OF DARK red robed Hades Consortium troops marched towards them from the rear, brandishing long-poled spears in their hands, swords at their backs or pistols at their belts.

Their retreat was blocked.

'What do we do, Aksak?' asked Nehmet of Faroud.

'We stand our ground, my brother Scarab!' Faroud bellowed, pulling the sword from his scabbard. 'Stand shoulder to shoulder. This brigade will not halt our progression!'

'That is good to know,' said Kulfar, 'but what about that one?'

On the other side of the vast stone doors, another troop of Hades Consortium guards appeared, blocking any advancement forwards. With the enclosed tunnels penning them in at each side there was nowhere to run. They were wedged between the two brigades.

'It did not take them very long to mobilise,' said Faroud to Quaint.

'Almost as if they knew we were coming, eh?' said Quaint to Faroud.

Gone was their element of surprise, and if they wanted to salvage anything even remotely resembling the upper hand, they needed to act fast. The soldiers numbered over twenty in each platoon – so they were outnumbered at least eight to one. The guards were all garbed alike, wearing long, dark red robes from their hooded heads to their feet. Whereas the inner stratum functioned as the brains behind the Consortium's campaigns, they were not without a reliance on hands and eyes to perform their menial tasks, and should any interlopers stumble across one of their hideaways, it paid to have some lethal measures on hand to deal with the situation.

Back to back with Quaint, Faroud called over his shoulder, 'What shall we do?'

'There's only one course of action open to us if we want to live,' replied Quaint.

'You mean surrender? Never! A Clan Scarab never surrenders!'

Quaint spied the array of spears, knives, swords and guns trained at them.

'Might I recommend a rethink of that policy?'

Faroud grimaced, clenching his jaw tight. Quaint was right, infuriatingly so.

'Stand down,' he said to his men. Kulfar and Nehmet exchanged quizzical expressions, first with each other and then with Faroud. 'That is an order!'

The two Scarabs reluctantly complied and, eventually, Quaint's band was relieved of all their weaponry. It was at that moment that Godfrey Joyce showed his colours.