Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'Sir George, I have brought the map as you requested,' Lady Jocasta beamed. Not waiting for an invitation, she delicately placed the parchment upon the table and rolled it out, placing small brass weights at each corner, smoothing the creases. 'In but a few hours, Nastasi and his Scarabs will deposit the vials of poison in the positions marked. Egypt will soon be crippled, and by then…it will be far, far too late to turn the tide.' She looked to Dray for approval.

He offered Lady Jocasta a broad smile – in contrast, the cold glare in his green eyes told an altogether different story. Grasping his walking cane, he pulled himself to his feet. Without a word, he slid the four brass weights from each corner of the map. The parchment curled its edges up like a snail retreating into its shell. The Greek woman watched, pleasantly enthralled by Dray's actions, but her expression faded as she saw Cornelius Quaint step from the shadows.

Lady Jocasta looked at the two men's faces, matching their nondescript expressions with one of her own. Dray held the parchment in his skeletal fingers and silently passed it into Quaint's hands.

There was no word of thanks during the exchange.

That was not part of the deal.

'Sir George?' Lady Jocasta enquired, seeking an explanation.

Dray ignored her. 'Consider our debt repaid, Cornelius. Take it and leave this place whilst you still can. You've got ten minutes, no more.' Quaint opened his mouth to speak. 'Don't bother thanking me…just pray our paths never cross again. This changes nothing between us.'

With an accepting nod, Quaint retreated back into the shadows as if he had never been there at all.

Lady Jocasta scowled incredulously as her whole world ground to a sudden halt.

'That was the map!' she said, unable to hide the ire in her voice.

'I'm aware of that, lass,' replied Dray.

'Then…may I ask why you gave it to Quaint, sir?' Lady Jocasta asked.

Dray replied, 'As I said…I was repaying a debt.'

'To him? What debt can you possibly owe that it is worth risking everything I have worked to achieve?' demanded Lady Jocasta. She had either forgotten her position, or was in full acknowledgement of it, it was difficult to judge. Whatever the answer, her rage was unrestrained. 'Now he has the means to destroy us – surely you must know that?'

'I know only that I have made this game a wee bit more interesting.' Sir George grinned maliciously. 'It's midnight in only a few hours. Even if he knows where the poison is being deposited, he is still just one man…he cannot be in nine places at once. It would take a miracle to stop what's in motion.'

Lady Jocasta's bile did not recede. 'But why take that risk?'

'Because if any man alive can do it, it's him!' Dray shuffled his form around the table to stand behind her. 'You have disappointed me, Lady Jocasta…and you have brought shame upon Baron Remus's tutelage. This will serve as a reminder of what happens when every eventuality is not catered for.'

'You have risked the success of my plot merely to reprimand me?' Lady Jocasta lowered her head upon her chest and closed her eyes. 'So…failure is to be my punishment.'

'No, Lady Jocasta.' Dray took his walking cane within both hands and pulled swiftly at the handle – removing a slender sword from within. With surprising ferocity, he slashed the blade's keen edge into Lady Jocasta's exposed, olive neck. Her head was cleaved from her shoulders. It rolled around directionless on the table, spilling a fine fountain of rich red blood as it went, coming to rest in the centre of the table with her big brown dead eyes staring at the ceiling.

'That was your punishment,' said Sir George. He consulted his pocket watch.

Cornelius Quaint had eight minutes.

Not enough time for a miracle, but still plenty of time to die…

The Fleeing Free

CORNELIUS QUAINT COULDN'T believe his eyes as he pelted his bulk through the dusty labyrinthine corridors towards the Hades Consortium's prison cells.

Madame Destine walked slowly towards him, supporting Faroud. The Scarab winced in excruciating pain with each step, clutching at his tender ribs with his free hand.

'You always did have an eye for a charity case, Madame,' Quaint said.

He ran as fast as he could towards her. Destine braced for impact as the locomotive of a man thundered into her. He lifted her into his arms and swung her around in circles like a carousel. They needed no words, these two. It was enough that they were in each other's arms once again.

Aksak Faroud cleared his throat, forcing apart their embrace.

'Do not think me unfeeling…but can this wait? It is not exactly safe here!'

'I can't argue with that,' said Quaint. 'We've got about five minutes to get as far away from this place as we can.' He slapped the map into his palm. 'This is what we needed! The locations along the Nile where Nastasi's men are going to deploy the poison. This is what we need to put an end to this plot!'

'You did it!' gasped Faroud. 'But I do not understand…you were done for…only death waited for us…how did you get hold of such a thing?'

'I gave the Devil his due,' Quaint said.

'You are truly a marvel, Cornelius Quaint,' grinned Faroud.

'I'm more than that, my friend,' grinned Quaint right back at him. 'I'm bloody spectacular. So, how about you, Aksak? You look terrible.'

'I have had better days, it is true.'

'Can you walk unaided?'

'Slowly…but yes, I think so,' replied Faroud.

'Good, then let's be going. Madame, you're with me!' trumpeted Quaint, as he snatched Destine's wrist and ran off down the tunnel, with a limping Faroud trailing behind.

Quaint was his usual self – thundering on until his bones snapped, until his muscles tore. But Aksak Faroud was not at all himself. The beating that he had suffered at the hands of his jailer had dislodged something inside him – a fact confirmed when he coughed a sticky wet clot of blood into the palm of his hand.

Retracing his steps, Quaint led Faroud and Destine through the deserted main audience chamber. They froze as they saw the headless body of Lady Jocasta, still sat in the same position at the table.

'I warned her not to stick her neck out,' said Quaint.

They continued through the chamber towards the main doors. Destine screamed as she stumbled over another lifeless corpse – that of Godfrey Joyce. His stumps still wept the last of his body's blood, and his two severed limbs lay on the floor like discarded cigar butts. He had suffered until his last breath if the contorted expression on his face was anything to go by.

Quaint grinned. 'You know, Faroud, you said we couldn't trust him, but deep down, I always knew Joyce was ar-'

'Hush, Cornelius!' reprimanded Destine, pushing her finger against his lips. 'One glib comment is sufficient amusement; we have more important matters at hand!'

Quaint nodded like an admonished pupil. 'Quite right, Madame, come on!'

With Faroud still bringing up the rear, they quickly reached the huge wooden beam that barred the two stone doors.

'Faroud, help me with this!' Quaint yelled.

Groaning madly as the pain scorched his guts, Faroud aided Quaint and they parted the massive doors that reached from floor to ceiling.

A thick curtain of dust dropped down before their eyes, and a gust of smoke evacuated the confined tunnel past them into the cavern. As it cleared, the sight before his eyes brought a lump to Cornelius Quaint's throat. Just inside the tunnel, littering the ground everywhere, were the charred and scorched corpses of the brigade of Consortium guards. Huge chunks of rock from the stone ceiling were strewn amongst (and crushing) the bodies. Quaint looked down at them, remembering how they had come to lose their lives and his part in it.