Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'You obviously came this way,' said Destine.

Quaint clamped his eyes shut. He prayed that she could not see the shame carved onto his face, but it was ever so difficult to hide anything from a woman who could sense his emotions as easily as if she shared half his heart.

'Cornelius, listen!' snapped Faroud, breaking the conjuror's thoughts.

It was the unmistakable sound of many footsteps mobilising in their direction, emanating from deep within the adjoining tunnels.

Quaint checked his fob watch. 'George was true to his word for once. The guards are on the move, people. We don't have much time!'

They set off as fast as they could, stepping over corpses and rocks, following the scarred crack in the tunnel roof towards the exit.

However, as they rounded the final corner towards freedom, Quaint's heart sank – the way out was completely barred by fallen rocks.

'A trifle overzealous with the explosive perhaps?' said Faroud sarcastically, as he brushed his hands over the rocks that blocked the entire tunnel. 'Now what? We're trapped!'

Reinforcing his statement, the heavy footsteps grew louder. The guards were catching up. Quaint and company were facing a dead end – in more ways than one.

A grinding, scraping sound came from the other side of the rocks behind them. Cracks in the boulders appeared as they shifted position and thin seams of bright white light appeared like incandescent veins.

Sobek's unmistakable voice reverberated through the rocks: 'Put your backs into it, Scarabs! I want these rocks cleared!'

'Sobek?' Faroud's face lit up. 'At last – we are free! We are safe.'

'Don't count your chickens, Aksak,' said Quaint, cupping a hand to his ear.

Faroud heard the sounds of their pursuers growing ever louder too and wished that he had kept his mouth shut. 'Sobek! It is me, Aksak!' he shouted towards a thin crack in the rocks. 'Hurry, we do not have much time!'

Destine tugged on Quaint's robes. 'Who are these men?'

'The cavalry, Madame!' Quaint replied. 'And for once their timing is impeccable!'

At that moment, a contingent of Consortium guards burst onto the scene. Crammed into the confines of the catacombs, they halted twenty feet away from Quaint, Faroud and Destine, blocking the tunnel completely. Each one brandished a weapon, each face twisted into a malevolent sneer.

Quaint considered his situation and the outlook was bleak. Just then, the huge boulders came tumbling down from the barred exit and great spears of illumination breached into the tunnel, flooding everywhere in a blast of raw sunlight. Quaint and his band were lucky, their backs were turned to the rocks, but it was the brigade of soldiers, who had all been glaring with wide, enraged eyes, that bore the full brunt of the explosion of brightness.

They were blinded, but it would not last long.

Sobek's face peered through the gap in the rocks. Spotting Quaint and Faroud, he beamed a relieved smile at them as he thrust his huge, fat arm through the hole.

'Come!' he boomed.

Quaint knew they had seconds to act before the guards would regain their sight.

He looked at Destine. 'You first, Madame!'

As Quaint grabbed her corseted waist, Destine could tell that there was no room for discussion. She looked up with uncertain eyes as Sobek's hairy arms grabbed her wrists and lifted her up into the light.

Several of the Consortium guards' sight had returned and they began to advance.

Quaint and Faroud had precious seconds to act.

'You're next!' Quaint yelled, grasping the Aksak by his hand.

Faroud shook his head violently. 'No, Cornelius, leave me! I can go no further.' He coughed, spitting congealed blood into his hands, a dark, maroon red, almost black, dredged from the very depths of his stomach. He was bleeding internally, his lungs punctured by broken ribs. 'I am done for, my friend…a gift from my jailer.'

'Faroud, we're getting out of here right now!' Quaint yelled. 'Together! Now hold on tight, I'm going to-'

'No!' snarled Faroud fiercely.

'But we can make it!' pleaded Quaint. 'It's right there! Just a stretch away!'

'Leave me, I say!' growled Faroud. 'Someone…has to watch your back.'

Quaint he knew he was right. Faroud was in no condition to go anywhere and the guards were inches away. The conjuror reached into the folds of his commandeered robes and pulled out a stick of explosive.

'I held one back…just in case,' he said, pushing it into Faroud's fingers. 'Consider it a parting gift.'

'Just what I always wanted,' Faroud grinned. 'Now go…whilst I still…have the strength to do any good.'

Quaint grasped Faroud firmly around the back of his neck and bent him towards him, touching the Scarab's forehead to his own. 'I'm sorry I got you into this mess.'

Faroud managed a weak grin. 'For an Aksak…there are no easy choices, remember? Tell Sobek to take care of Rakmun…and make sure that my men make Nastasi pay.'

With a firm nod, Faroud gripped the explosive in his shaking hands and bit the fuse off with his teeth. Once lit, the explosives would explode practically instantly. Quaint tore a torch from the wall and offered it to the Scarab.

'Aksak Faroud, I have been proud to call you my friend,' he said.

'As have I…Cornelius Quaint.'

With a last nod of respect, Quaint reached for Sobek's grasp. Reaching solid ground, he fell to his knees as Destine rushed to support him.

'Clear the entrance!' he bellowed.

Sobek looked at the breach in the rocks. 'But, the Aksak…?'

'It's too late, Sobek. Everyone to cover!'

The band of Scarabs scattered in every direction as a great explosion rocked the land. The deafening roar filled the ears of thieves, conjuror and fortune-teller alike. Ancient obelisks that had stood in Fantoma for thousands of years shook and toppled, crashing into each other, in turn striking others, pummelling the buildings at their feet. Thick walls of dust rose into the air as columns of ancient stone crumbled like chalk, collapsing onto the entrance to the lair of the Hades Consortium.

In a moment, all was still.

A fitting monument, thought Quaint, as he looked at the devastation around him. The area was cloaked in a wall of impenetrable dust. Surely all inside the sanctum sanctorum would have perished. If there was any justice in the world, not even Hell would take their souls.

'I have been away from you too long, my sweet,' Destine said by the conjuror's side, brushing flecks of masonry from his curls like a doting mother. 'I'd forgotten how much mess you can make.'

'How are you?' the conjuror asked her.

'Exhausted, my sweet. You?'

'Absolutely worn out,' Quaint replied. 'Which is a shame.'

'A shame, Cornelius. How so?'

'Because this battle is only half won and getting out of there alive was the easy part!' Quaint snapped.

The Last Hurrah

A SHORT TIME LATER, with Madame Destine and Sobek and his adopted pack of Clan Scarabs riding at his side, Cornelius Quaint pulled his horse to a stop. He dismounted and removed the parchment map from the satchel at his waist, spreading it out flat on the ground. Using rocks to keep the edges from curling, he traced his finger down the line of the Nile's path. The sun was already falling in the sky. Time was in short supply. Motioning for Sobek to join him, the two men became embroiled in a deep discussion, with much waving of hands, confident nodding and pointing towards the horizon.

Nearby, Madame Destine was growing impatient.

Now that their escape from the Hades Consortium base was behind them, her mind had free rein to wander. Her worry for Ahman had returned and increased, and a hungry pain crawled restlessly around her body. Seeing Quaint occupied with other concerns, she sat upon the sand in contemplation. The Scarabs were doing much the same and were scattered in tiny groups, all of them silent and mournful. Their leader was dead and each of them grieved in their own way. Destine glanced at their dark, weathered faces, wondering how Cornelius had found himself in their company. But that hardly seemed important now; it was a tale for the long journey home to England – one of many, if she knew him. Destine strained her ears to hear Quaint's discussion. She liked hearing him boss people around – the man had a natural talent for it.