The Eleventh Plague (11 page)

Q
UAINT FOLLOWED
A
LEXANDRIA
to the cliff edge, peering cautiously over the side. The desert wasteland stretched as far as the eye could see. A barren, grey-brown wilderness populated by nothing except hills, rocks, dust and sand.

‘Down there?’ he asked.

Alexandria nodded. ‘If you wish to get answers about this plot of yours, yes,’ she said, pointing to the inhospitable landscape below. ‘Down into the valley of death’s shadows, to the place where the souls of the dead roam, and their ghosts walk freely in daylight.’

‘Ghosts?’ laughed Quaint. ‘Don’t tell me you think this place is haunted!’

‘Pay heed, Cornelius, for as you will soon discover, evil has made its home here. The valley is haunted by something far, far worse than the ghosts of the dead,’ said Alexandria.

Unconvinced, Quaint scanned the valley in closer detail, when he noticed something almost shrouded from view. Nestled in between two gigantic, red mountains was an encampment. It was shadowed in a dark swathe of night, despite it being just past two o’clock in the afternoon. Not one ray from the sun penetrated the valley, as if the encampment did not merit its light.

‘Where is this place?’ Quaint asked. ‘It’s not on any maps I’ve seen.’

‘It is a settlement from the old days named Bara Mephista,’ replied Alexandria, as she watched the flicker of interest in Quaint’s dark eyes. ‘It was once home to a group of Nubian settlers who called themselves “The Fleeing Free”.’

Quaint rubbed his jaw. ‘A literal moniker, I take it?’

Alexandria nodded. ‘They were a tribe of nomads that originally fled here from the city of Khartoum…and they are a legacy from my country’s past that we do not celebrate. The Fleeing Free worshipped gods of death, and practised their dark rituals right there in the place you see before you. To look across these plains now, save for the remains of their old settlement, you would never know they even existed. They were purged by the pharaoh of that time, their name was struck from all historical records, wiping them from the face of Egypt. That is why you will not find this settlement on any map.’

‘When your lot hold a grudge, you don’t muck about, do you? I don’t suppose one of your ancestors was in charge back then?’ joked Quaint.

‘Bara Mephista has been tainted by that dark reputation ever since,’ Alexandria continued, unperturbed by the conjuror’s sarcasm. ‘Nubian history was my father’s life, and he surely taught you that the ancient Egyptians worshipped Amun-Ra, the Sun God. As the sun was born each day, the eastern sky signified the birth of life, yes? Similarly, as the sun set in the west at the end of each day, it became synonymous with death.’ She caught Quaint’s sceptical eyes. ‘The Fleeing Free built their temple facing west in veneration to the underworld…in service to death itself, hence the superstitions.’

Quaint looked down at the settlement dubiously. For all the
beliefs he held, the supernatural was not one of them. ‘But how can a long extinct bunch of nomads possibly help me?’ he asked.

‘They cannot,’ replied Alexandria. ‘But those who now reside here might.’

Something made Quaint shiver, and he turned around to Alexandria.

‘Did you say this place is called “Bara Mephista”?’ he asked.

Alexandria smiled. ‘It took you long enough to work it out.’

‘But, Alex…Bara Mephista is old Nubian for—’

‘Land of the Devil, yes. And it is very aptly named,’ said Alexandria. ‘Bara Mephista is home to the largest criminal infection that Egypt has ever witnessed…a disease that has spread throughout this country for decades, polluting anything and everything in its path. Like packs of wild dogs they roam, foraging and scavenging the land.’

‘
They?
’ asked Quaint.

‘The Clan Scarabs. Murderers and thieves, every one of them. Ruthless and cunning, they would slit your throat without giving it a second thought.’

‘Unreceptive to visitors, I should imagine,’ gulped Quaint.

‘You will soon find out,’ said Alexandria. ‘If anyone knows anything about this plot of yours – it is the Scarabs. If you are not to be swayed, then down you must go, willingly into their nest. But if you take but one wrong step in that place, it may well turn out to be your last. You must be cautious.’

‘My dear, I’m the living embodiment of cautious,’ replied Quaint.

‘Cornelius, have you heard nothing of what I just said?’ Alexandria snapped. ‘These men are murderers! You will be lucky if you live long enough to introduce yourself, let alone ask them any questions!’ She turned from the cliff’s edge and began
gathering up their things, stowing them into the pack on her saddle. ‘If you really are going down there then you will not find
me
by your side.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Quaint.

‘Where do you think? I am going back home. Back to Hosni,’ replied Alexandria. ‘I have done my part and led you here. How you decide to kill yourself is your business.’

‘Just like that? Alex, you can’t just leave!’

‘On the contrary, Cornelius…I can.’ Alexandria grabbed hold of her saddle and hoisted herself upon the horse’s back.

‘I’m miles away from anywhere! What if they refuse to help?’ asked Quaint.

‘Then a long walk back to your ship will be the least of your troubles,’ Alexandria said. ‘Unlike you, I have much to lose. I must do what you should have done from the start…I will leave the heroics to someone else.’ With that, she steered her horse towards the track. ‘If you somehow end up walking out of this valley alive, Cornelius – make sure you say goodbye this time.’

Quaint tried his best to smile, and just about managed to, but it was a fleeting one. ‘Alex, wait! Before you go…take a look in your pocket.’

Alexandria halted her horse with a gentle tug on the reins. She reached into her waistcoat, and her expression flitted between aggravation, surprise and then utter confusion.

It was the seven of diamonds.

Quaint grinned up at her. ‘Your card I believe?’

Alexandria chewed at the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. She cast the playing card into the dust. ‘I take it all back…you
are
a good magician, Cornelius. But know this: if you wish to walk back out of this place with your life, you
will need to be better than just
good…
you will need to be absolutely spectacular!’

Quaint watched her fade into the distance, claimed by a cloud of dust. He slowly walked towards the card, picked it up, and slipped it into his trouser pocket. Glancing into the valley to his destination, he smiled at Alexandria’s words.

Thankfully, being absolutely spectacular was well within his means…

L
ADY
J
OCASTA WAS
alone in her quarters deep beneath the ruins of the ancient city of Fantoma. Sweeping velvet curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor, and a large bed stood in the centre of the room. Wearing a flowing white silk dress, Jocasta was easily the brightest thing in the room. Flickering candles on her table signalled the entrance of a visitor, and Jocasta’s eyes greeted Baron Remus. His ice-white three-piece suit was blemish-free, and the man had an equally pristine white hat perched upon his head. But under its brim, a subdued expression hung on his tanned face.

‘Is anything the matter, teacher?’ Jocasta asked.

‘I have received word from Miss Ivy at our headquarters in Rome. Events in the Crimean peninsula are escalating and I must leave Egypt immediately,’ the Baron’s booming voice resounded. ‘The Russian navy has been flexing its muscles in the Black Sea for weeks. They have stationed troops en masse near Wallachia’s borders, and are busying themselves with the Turks, but soon many other nations will have no choice but to intervene. If everything unfolds as I have conceived, the French and British will soon join the battle, and when that happens war will be inevitable.’

Lady Jocasta nodded. ‘Forward planning
is
one of your strengths.’

‘A most coincidental selection of words,’ said Remus. ‘Before I take my leave, I need to be sure that your plans proceed in alignment with your schedule.’

‘Why so concerned, Baron?’ teased Jocasta. ‘Afraid that I will not succeed…or afraid that I
will
and it will outshine your little fracas in the Crimea?’

From out of nowhere, the Baron lunged towards her, sending the contents of the table flying into the air. His thick, hairy hands compressed around her neck, his nails digging deeply into her flesh. Jocasta tried to force air down her throat as the Baron’s grip squeezed ever tighter.

‘Do not test me, woman!’ he snarled, his teeth bared like fangs. ‘There is more at stake here than you realise!’

‘You are…
hurting
me,’ Jocasta gasped, trying to unlock the Italian’s fingers from her throat. ‘Please, I beg of you – you’re…
killing
me!’

At her words, the Baron released his hold, staring at his hands as if they were dripping with blood. Jocasta steadied herself against the bedside table, clawing at her neck. Thick red marks were smeared like a scarf around her throat, and tears were in her eyes as she stared up at the Baron. He made a move to grab her hand, but the Greek woman snatched it away. She glanced at him nervously as he fought to master his rage, his broad shoulders quivering as he turned his face from hers.

‘Jocasta, I apologise…’ he said. ‘This place…its confinement is affecting my condition. My campaign in the Crimea is at a critical stage…and I should not have taken my anxieties out on you. Please forgive me.’

‘You sought only assurances of my plot’s success, teacher,’ said
Jocasta hoarsely. ‘You need make no apology for that. But your concerns are unnecessary, Baron. Every eventuality of my plot has been catered for. Soon the banks of the Nile will burst, but this time the river will be overflowing with corpses.’

‘I hope your plot matches your confidence,’ growled the Baron, as he removed himself from her quarters, lingering at the door. ‘If it does not, your corpse will be amongst that number…and everything that we have fought for will be for nothing. Remember my words, Jocasta…for one day soon, it might not be me that seeks assurances from you, and you need to be prepared.’

Lady Jocasta watched the Baron leave, wondering what on earth he could have meant.

M
ADAME
D
ESTINE WAS
uncomfortable – not just perched upon the wooden stool at the table in Ahman’s carpet store, but generally uncomfortable from all that she had discovered from the stout Egyptian. Gradually, the clouded truth about her past was being revealed, and for one formerly practised in foretelling the future, it was an uncomfortable experience.

‘But I don’t remember it, Ahman. Any of it!’ Destine exclaimed. ‘I am forced to believe this letter is genuine, and yet what other truths am I then forced to accept? That I was here in Egypt twenty years ago in 1833, and I foresaw that one day I would return to complete a task that I could not? But what task? This letter speaks of everything and nothing! Who is this Aloysius Bedford character? The more questions I ask, the more confused I become.’

‘I am sorry, Madame, but I can add nothing other than what I have already told you…and what you have already told
yourself
,’ said Ahman, watching Destine’s deflated expression waver. ‘Back then you entrusted me with two letters and one very large mystery…but no answers. I have been waiting all this time for you to come back.’ Ahman smiled, trying to coax one in reply from Destine – to no avail. ‘This is as strange for me as it is for you.’

‘I doubt that, monsieur, for you are an integral part of the enigma,’ said Destine, as she slipped off the stool and began to pace around the carpet store. ‘You bake my favourite cinnamon bread – a lot better than I do, I might add – you know my name, you know
me.
I have so many questions that I cannot speak them fast enough!’

‘Then perhaps our journey will enlighten you in time,’ Ahman said.

Destine stopped pacing. ‘Journey? What journey?’

‘The one the letter speaks of, Madame,’ said Ahman. ‘We are going to continue this trail for the markers, are we not?’

‘We?’ asked the Frenchwoman.

‘Of course we!’ replied Ahman cheerily. ‘You do not expect me to let you carry this burden alone, do you? What kind of friend would I be then?’

‘I wish I knew, Ahman. In fact, I wish I knew a lot of things.’

‘We cannot dwell on our yesterdays, Madame…what is done is done. We must focus on the here and now and unlock this trove of mystery. Blind to the past or not, we will follow your younger self’s trail to uncover the truth – together!’

‘If only I could remember!’ The Frenchwoman thumped her fist upon the table, sending the small wooden box flying through the air. Its contents spilled onto the floor, and as Destine stooped to pick them up, something caught her eye.

It was another letter, an exact replica of the previous. As she turned it over in her trembling hands, she noticed the words: ‘2 of 3’ written on the envelope’s reverse.

‘What is this?’ she asked.

Ahman scratched at his beard. ‘Ah, well…I did say you gave me
two
letters.’

T
HE FURTIVE FORM
of Heinrich Nadir stood at the alley’s corner in Agra Bazaar, staring intently at the doorway of Ahman’s carpet store. His quarry had been inside for well over an hour and he was getting restless.

Perhaps he had been careless and she had spotted him, making her escape through a rear exit. No, he had been vigilant, he was sure of that. His plan would all be for nothing without the Frenchwoman. She was still inside; she had to be. Even if she
had
seen him and recognised him from the
Silver Swan
, what did it matter? He was just an innocent sightseer, the same as she was. But he could not expect Godfrey Joyce to wait for ever for his prize. He folded his newspaper into the inner pocket of his jacket, just as Madame Destine appeared at the shop’s doorway, closely followed by a small bald Egyptian. Nadir was intoxicated by this intriguing development.

By his appearance, it was obvious that the bald man was a local, but there was an intense argument ensuing between the two. He was certainly desperate to sell her a carpet, whoever he was. Perhaps this might scupper Nadir’s entire plan. He would lose
more than just face if he were to report to his employer of his failure – his life itself was forfeit. Deciding it required further attention, he removed himself back around the corner of the alley and silently observed, listening intently to every terse word carried on the back of the breeze.

‘Madame, please understand – I was only abiding by
your
wishes! You cannot just go off like this,’ called Ahman, rushing after Destine as she sped determinedly from his shop. Her dress billowed like a flag on a pole, and she clutched up handfuls of it within her fists, lifting the delicate skirts from the ground to ease her flight.

‘Do not try to stop me, monsieur,’ she warned. ‘Bigger men than you have tried and failed!’

‘But where are you
going
?’ Ahman asked.

‘Away from under this cloud of confusion!’ Destine replied. ‘I wish that I could trust you, Ahman…yet I do not feel I can trust anyone or any
thing
any longer – least of all myself! Why did you not tell me about this other letter?’

‘Back then, you told me not to!’ Ahman protested. ‘You told me that you had to read the letters in sequence…that one would not make sense without the other!’

‘Well, I was wrong, for neither of them make any sense! The letters speak of a tragedy…but it is two decades old. Surely something so important would be the first thing you mentioned when chancing upon me in this bazaar – if indeed it
was
chance…for all I know, this is all part of some elaborate confidence trick and you are trying to take advantage of me just like those banshees in the marketplace!’

Ahman’s face dropped as Destine’s words stung at him. He looked at her, past her furious fortifications, trying to find a spark of the woman he once knew. It was not easy, for her anger was
difficult to pierce. He only wished that she could remember who she was and see herself as he did. Although Destine had no memory of her time in Egypt, for Ahman the years had passed slowly. How he had missed her. How he had yearned for her.
His
Destine was in there somewhere; he knew that, and he was not about to give up searching for her just yet. He could not lose her again.

‘I would never deceive you, Destine. Never!’ he said. ‘The envelopes were sealed! They were meant for your eyes only, and had I opened them, what good would it have done? They were written in
your
language…and I do not speak French, ah?’

Destine touched her hand to her forehead. She had to sit down somewhere and try to regain her sense of balance. She lowered herself onto a pile of stacked carpets outside the store.

Gingerly, Ahman joined her.

‘Please believe me, Destine,’ he said. ‘I did not deceive you.’

‘Ahman, I am so sorry…but please understand that I must place a lot of faith in your words, and faith in
you
– a total stranger. I thank you for your hospitality, but I have to return to my ship.’ Destine tightened the knot at the rear of her headscarf and stood swiftly, keen to resume her course. ‘Cornelius will be waiting for me.’

Ahman reached after her. ‘Cornelius? But, Destine, after what the other letter said…how can you go to him knowing what will happen?’

Destine lowered her eyes to the ground. ‘Because I have nowhere else to go.’

‘I am your friend, Destine – if only you would remember me as such,’ said Ahman, earnestly. ‘You may have tasked this mystery to yourself, but that does not mean you have to accomplish it alone. We shall discover the truth together!’

‘I do not think I could
cope
with much more truth!’ Destine adjusted her corset and regained her composure. ‘If I listen to my heart, I
do
know you as a friend, Ahman…but if the revelations within this second letter are to be believed, the road ahead will be long and arduous, and I do not know if I have the strength to walk it.’ She pulled the letter from inside the sleeve of her dress and unfolded it, holding it with trembling hands as she read aloud:

‘My dear Destine,

‘This letter is the second of my three markers to you. I have done what I can to point you towards the truth, and I have laid the clues that you must follow. You must go to a sacred place where the sun’s rays touch just twice a year. Seek the temple of the Shaded God, one that was once lost, but has since been found. There, you will find the answers to this great mystery, and the knowledge of what you must do.

‘The truth is hidden within the third marker.

Of utmost importance is this
: My visions have warned me that you MUST NOT involve Cornelius in this task, for your reunion shall signal the beginning of the darkest chapter of his life, where everything he once believed will crumble before his eyes. He must not face this peril until the time is right. You must promise me on this, Destine. Cornelius must be allowed to discover his own destiny in due course, even though in truth, it is that which is my greatest regret of all.’

‘Whatever does she mean by that?’ Destine said. ‘Cornelius might be in grave danger, just as I foresaw before my prophetic gifts deserted me, but if I were to run to him, it would spell his doom…perhaps even his demise. How could I have forgotten something such as that? What has guided me here to you, and brought me in contact with these secrets hidden from my memory…and why now?’

‘What makes you think you were guided here at all?’ asked Ahman. ‘From what you say, it is sheer blind luck that has led you back to Egypt.’

‘I doubt it,’ Destine replied. ‘As you said, I purport that accidents rarely happen. If my experience with premonitions has taught me anything, it is that all things happen for a reason, Ahman. As much as Cornelius hates to admit it…everything is connected. It seems that I must collect every missing piece of my past and put this jigsaw back together again. But where do we start looking,
mon ami
?’

Ahman scratched frantically at his bearded jaw, watching a brand new Destine rise from the pile of carpets. ‘Well, the first clue would seem to be this temple that we are supposed to travel to, ah? This “temple of the Shaded God”. The letter called it “a sacred place where the sun’s rays touch just twice a year”. Whatever can that mean?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said Destine, hungry now to accept her task. ‘And what is this in the centre of the page? This strange symbol seems more than just a random doodle. What is it supposed to mean? Could it be a clue of some kind?’

Ahman’s eyes lit up. ‘What did you just say?’

‘This triangular marking here,’ said Destine. ‘Perhaps my younger self means for us to seek a pyramid of some kind?’

‘Symbol,’ Ahman muttered, as though talking in his sleep. ‘I wonder…’

‘You wonder what?’ asked Destine, vexed by Ahman’s response as he buried his head in his hands, chuckling merrily to a silent joke. ‘What is it? Do you know what this symbol means?’

‘Can it be that easy?’ mumbled Ahman. ‘You thought that this pictogram might be a clue of some kind…and if I am right…I tend to agree with you. You see, if I recall it correctly from teachings in my youth, it is an ancient Nubian text. The triangle with the circle inside was the hieroglyph for “temple”…but if I am correct, it means a whole lot more than that.’

‘You are speaking gibberish, Ahman,’ said Destine.

‘Bear with me, Destine…but what if we took the symbol literally? Using the clues from your letter…what if we translate “symbol” into “
Simbel
”?’ asked Ahman.

Destine shrugged. ‘I do not know…enlighten me.’

‘Now this is merely a guess, you understand. There is a place I know…an old temple on the outskirts of the Wilderlands a little way south of here. Sekhet
Simbel
is its name! It was consumed by the desert, lost for all time until it was rediscovered. “Once lost, but has since been found.” Sekhet Simbel would seem to match that description. Do you see? If the word “symbol” becomes
Simbel
…it all fits!’

‘But this temple…if it is indeed the place mentioned in my letter – what about the sun? How can its rays only strike this temple twice a year?’ asked Destine. ‘These clues…they are so cryptic!’

Ahman laughed heavily. ‘Destine, is that not the point? “The truth is hidden within the third marker” – remember your own words? And it is up to us to seek it out. This is it, I am certain of it, my dear! We can be in Sekhet Simbel in a matter of hours. Well? Are you coming?’

‘I have little choice, my newfound old friend,’ said Destine. ‘To Sekhet Simbel we will go…and may we finally discover the truth when we get there.’