Darren Craske - The Eleventh Plague

'So much like a family?' Destine offered.

'Exactly,' confirmed Quaint. 'I know that Butter will do his best to hold the circus together, but I worry about those people after what happened in Crawditch. Leaving the circus behind was the hardest choice I have had to make in quite some time…now that I know what I have to lose – and especially what I have already lost…losses such as Twinkle.'

'Oui, mon cher…I miss little Twinkle's light also,' said Destine.

'I don't think there will ever be a day that goes by when I will not miss it,' agreed Quaint. His eyes lost their focus, blurring the ship's narrow corridor into a mire of white-grey formless shapes. 'God knows how Prometheus copes. He hides it well, but he's bleeding inside. His room on the train is just next to mine, don't forget. I can hear him at night. He weeps for her, Destine. Almost every night. I have to resist the urge to knock on the wall to see if he wants to talk. He'll come to me if he wants my ears. What could I say that would be of any comfort to him anyway?'

'Prometheus knows that we all cared deeply for Twinkle…I think that is comfort enough, my sweet,' Destine said, her delicate accent giving her words the ring of wisdom.

'When I saw her lying there on that mortuary slab it was like looking at a complete stranger,' continued Quaint. 'She looked nothing like the young woman I knew. She was always my little star. So full of life. So full of mischief. Of warmth, of love. When she died, it was if a vast abyss had formed inside our family. I just worry that with us gone the abyss might grow ever larger.' Quaint's eyes dropped. 'For that I feel nothing but guilt.'

'Guilt?' asked Destine. 'Do not speak to me of guilt, Cornelius, or have you forgotten that it was my devil of a son that was responsible for everything that transpired in Crawditch? You could not have foreseen his involvement, my sweet – not even I did until it was too late.'

'Instead of allowing my anger for him to consume me, I should have been there with the people who were in pain!' Quaint snapped, as a pair of passing passengers stared at him. He led Destine over to the large oval windows and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. 'Where was I when the circus needed me the most, Destine? Was I amongst them, sharing their grief, their pain? No. I was elsewhere. Otherwise engaged. Thundering blindly like a wounded bull headlong into trouble, just like I always do!'

'But that is the point, Cornelius – your involvement was crucial. That is why you need feel no guilt! Had you not become involved, there would have been no one to prevent the Hades Consortium from poisoning the Thames, and then neither you nor I would be here right at this moment risking all to save Egypt, would we? Cornelius, it was meant to be! We are all servants to our destinies, my sweet. You of all people should know that.'

Quaint tore his eyes away from her and rested his forehead against the cold glass of one of the windows. 'A servant of destiny, eh? That sums me up nicely. Well, let me tell you, Madame, sometimes Fate can be a cruel mistress.'

'And we could spend all night stood here in the corridor discussing what is fate, what is consequence and what is sheer blind luck, and it would not make the blindest bit of difference,' Destine said, motioning for them to continue their stroll. 'I thought you were supposed to be hungry.'

Quaint managed a weak smile. 'Melancholic thoughts tend to put me off my food.'

'If that were the case, you would be as thin as a rake,' said Destine.

'Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Madame,' said Quaint, as he held open the ornate glass doors of the dining saloon. 'Let's get a table away from other passengers. Our topic of conversation is one that I'd prefer remained a secret.'

The First Attempt

CORNELIUS QUAINT DIRECTED Madame Destine to a table positioned next to a huge oval window etched with images of exotic swans dancing with water nymphs. The room was half-empty and Quaint relished the seclusion. A waiter appeared and assisted Destine with her chair, before hovering over Quaint's shoulder.

'May I recommend the veal, sir?' the waiter offered.

'You may not,' replied Quaint. 'What do you have in the way of game?'

'Well, we have a nice breast of partridge with rosemary and minted potatoes and a creme brulee for dessert,' said the waiter, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny of Quaint's glare. 'It really is rather delicious, I must say.'

Quaint contemplated the choice. 'I'll take it. But just the main course, if you don't mind. My reputation will be in tatters if I am caught eating creme brulee.'

'And for you, ma'am?' asked the waiter, gladly shifting his eyes to Destine.

'I will have the salmon in dill and cucumber sauce, with cheese and biscuits to follow, merci,' she replied.

'Of course,' said the waiter, who smiled over-sweetly and hurried off to the galley.

He wove through the white-tiled catacombs, past bustling irate chefs and impatient waiters, towards the rear of the galley, to the ice-box, seeking privacy – although not necessarily seclusion.

Heinrich Nadir was waiting for him. 'Well? What has he ordered?'

'He went for the game, sir,' replied the waiter.

Nadir grinned fiendishly. 'I knew it. See that his meal is swimming in this stuff,' he whispered, handing the waiter a small, brown-glass bottle with a cork stopper. 'The entire bottle, mind…I want this man deader than dead.'

The waiter inspected the bottle. The label was nondescript, but he could guess at its contents. 'Poison? You…you want me to poison him?' he asked Nadir.

'Nein, I want you to season his main course to suit his damn palette – of course I want you to poison him!' Nadir snapped.

'Right then, and…and you'll pay me what you said, right?' asked the waiter.

Nadir nodded. 'I am a man of my word.'

'Good, because I owe the ship's card table three months' wages. This'll really save my bacon. But won't it cause a bit of a commotion when the bloke falls down dead at the table? Chef will have bloody kittens!'

'Do not worry,' replied Nadir. 'This particular brand of poison is designed to have a potent but delayed effect. Herr Quaint will be long gone from the dining hall when the poison finishes him off. I will stick to him like glue…and when he is at his weakest I shall strike. I have an arrangement with one of the engineers to dispose of his body in the ship's incinerator. Trust me, there is no way that man is going to survive the night.'

The waiter burst through the double doors into the dining hall just shy of ten minutes later. As he locked eyes with Quaint he could not help but curl his lip at him, which thankfully went unnoticed. The waiter laid the plates on the table and uncorked a bottle of red wine.

'Would you like to sample it, sir?' he asked Quaint.

'I would as it goes,' Quaint replied, eager for the man to leave him in peace. He snatched the bottle from the waiter's hand, and as the man looked on aghast, he held it to his mouth and glugged heartily, finishing a quarter of the contents with a satisfied belch. 'I'll take it.'

With a somewhat discomfited nod, the skinny waiter bowed briefly, before turning on his heel for the galley.

Quaint scowled at him all the way.

'I suppose you're going to tell me that he was sweet as well, are you?' he asked Madame Destine, who was despairing at his lack of manners.

'Cornelius! First the gentleman in the terminal and now the waiter? Is there anyone that you are not planning to offend on this journey?' she said.

'Can I help it if I have a low tolerance for dislikeable little invertebrates?' Quaint said, grinning like a cat. 'And speaking of which…'

Destine looked up, just as Heinrich Nadir approached the table.