Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

At her age, that thought intrigued her.

She glanced across the room at the guard. Wave after wave of her prying sensitivity drifted out from her mind. Her guard's state of mind was an open book to her…and she decided to thumb through the pages.

Madame Destine could sense his hatred towards her, but it was misplaced. The guard had no idea just why he hated her – just that he did. His hatred had little foundation, he hated her merely because it was expected of him – or ordered of him. That worked in Destine's favour. Hatred with no emotional grounding can be easily shaken. All she needed to do was tap into it and replace it with an emotion a little more hospitable…

Destine began to slowly push his thoughts to one side, diluting every speck of hatred within his heart, purifying him, instilling a sense of peace within his mind. It took mere moments and, when she had finished, the guard was visibly changed. He tottered slightly on his feet, more asleep than awake, drifting between the two. As Destine approached him, the guard did not even flinch.

'That is right,' Destine said softly. 'Just relax…I mean you no harm.'

Her gentle, melodic accent lifted and fell poetically, captivating the young guard's senses. He faltered a little, as if stirring from a deep sleep, but as he heard Destine's songlike voice continue to massage his mind, he relaxed totally.

'I just want to borrow these,' she said, reaching for a large ring of keys affixed to the guard's belt. 'And I wonder, would you be able to escort me from this dreadful place? You see, I have a friend that has just arrived and I would love to meet him. You would? Oh, what a dear boy you are.'

The Scales Unbalanced

'WELL, GODFREY?' LADY Jocasta put her bejewelled hands to her hips and glared into Joyce's eyes. 'I am waiting for an explanation. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me why you have led these men here?'

Joyce's lower lip wobbled. 'Well, I…I thought-'

'Did you? Did you really?' snapped Jocasta. 'You mean to tell me that you actually put thought into betraying us?'

'N-no, my Lady, no! I did not betray you,' swore Joyce, the only one of the group not restrained. 'This man here plots against you! He destroyed the tunnels and killed your men! He…he knows of your plan to poison the Nile! He said he would stop at nothing to put an end to it. I…I intended to deliver him here to you…I was only pretending to be on their side to gain their trust! It was all a part of my plan.'

'More slithering, Joyce?' asked Quaint, bound in ropes by the swarm of guards surrounding Faroud, Kulfar, Nehmet and him.

'You must be Cornelius Quaint,' Lady Jocasta said with a smile. 'Do you not know it is impolite to interrupt a lady?'

'Oh? Are there any about?' smiled Quaint in reply.

Lady Jocasta fumed. 'Guard, teach this man some manners.' The guard at Quaint's side smashed his iron gauntlet across the conjuror's face. 'So which of these men is the Aksak from Bara Mephista?' Jocasta asked.

Joyce thrust out his finger and pointed at Faroud. 'That one!'

'You snivelling rat! You set us up!' Faroud screamed, spitting a glob of saliva in Joyce's direction. One of the guards chopped his hand upon the back of the Aksak's neck and he flopped limply in his captor's grip.

'Lady Jocasta, the longer we wait, the more of a threat these men are,' Godfrey Joyce yelled. 'They have more friends positioned in the eastern hills! We must send a detachment of our troops to counter them immediately!'

'How dare you bark orders at me!' Lady Jocasta's voice rose in volume, echoing off the dry walls of the vast cavern like an operatic singer delivering the greatest performance of her career. She nodded to two guards at her side. 'This man has ceased to be a viable asset to the Hades Consortium. His employment is to be terminated immediately.'

'Terminated?' questioned Joyce. 'B-but please, my Lady…you're not…you're not going to k-kill me…are you?'

Lady Jocasta feigned surprise. 'Kill you, Mr Joyce? No, of course not, whatever gave you that idea?' she said, watching the colour flush back into Joyce's face. 'That would be far too compassionate. No, Mr Joyce…I am going to hurt you until you beg with me to kill you…and then watch it happen.'

The colour withdrew once again from Joyce's face. 'But…I brought Quaint here…to you…so that our forces could detain him, so he could no longer be a threat!'

Lady Jocasta said, 'And we thank you for that. You have at least done one thing of value…that is why you are not already dead.' She turned her back on him and walked to the top of the stone stairs. 'You have your orders, guards. Disarm him.'

Joyce wept openly. 'But, Lady Jocasta…I don't have any weapons!'

Jocasta smiled. 'Figure of speech.'

From the contingent of dark red-clad Consortium guards stepped two wraith-like men. Flanking Joyce, they grabbed each of his arms and spread them wide like a scarecrow. Joyce's head twisted back and forth, pointlessly trying to break free. The guards pulled him from both sides as if trying to wrench his arms from their sockets.

Sweat ran profusely from Joyce's forehead.

Struggling against the guards restraining him, Aksak Faroud fought to catch the conjuror's attention. 'Do you not think we should-'

'Intervene? Certainly not!' scoffed Quaint. 'Joyce deserves everything he gets.'

'How can you be so callous?'

'Not callous…calculating. I just know how to turn a situation to my advantage when I've got dozens of swords pointed at me,' said Quaint.

'You will forgive me if I seem pessimistic,' said Faroud. 'But at least then I will not be disappointed.'

'Look, if it makes you feel better, I doubt there's anything that we could say that would make any difference anyway. Once that cow is done with Joyce, we're up next in the queue to die. So best we just sit tight and hope for a miracle, eh?'

'Oh…as long as there is nothing to worry about,' said Faroud despondently.

'Don't blame me,' said Quaint. 'You wanted the pessimistic version.'

'I think I preferred the optimistic one.'

'That's the spirit!' cheered Quaint.

Lady Jocasta smiled seductively in Quaint's direction and pointed her bejewelled finger at him. 'Do not think that you have escaped my wrath, Mr Quaint. Oh, yes! I know exactly who you are! I have organised something special for your arrival.'

'You shouldn't have gone to any trouble on my account,' said Quaint.

'Oh, it will be no trouble…in fact, it will be my pleasure,' Lady Jocasta purred.

She signalled two more guards, who detached themselves from the mass of robed figures and took position in front of Joyce. He was a quivering mess of jellified flesh and bone. The two guards facing him unsheathed their swords from their scabbards, and by the sudden hush that descended upon the cavern, it quickly became evident what was about to occur. With a nod of Lady Jocasta's head, both the guards sliced their raised swords through the air in a synchronised arc and Joyce's arms were severed at the elbow, falling to the ground with a dull, wet thud. His gut-wrenching howl echoed around the cavern, filling every crack and crease in the rocks.

'God…no,' he mumbled through saliva-coated lips.

'God…yes!' screeched Lady Jocasta, her feral eyes wide with delight.

With her long white gown trailing behind her like a phantom, she walked down the steps and stood over him, dominating his blurred vision. She wanted to watch him die, she wanted to be the last thing he ever saw. She stared down at his severed arms, the fingers still grasping the air manically.

'Pick them up!' she whispered, pushing her heel into his chest until he toppled over onto his back, his stumps still seeping blood. 'Your arms, Mr Joyce…I want you to pick them up.'