The Eleventh Plague (21 page)

A
S THANKFUL AS
she was that she was not yet dead, Madame Destine’s situation was not all that improved. Blindfolded and flanked on either side by the two silent assassins that had attacked her, with Heinrich Nadir trailing behind, she was brusquely steered through the winding white corridors of the British Embassy.

The ride from the outskirts of Umkaza to Cairo had taken quite some time, and everything was a haze in her mind. The last thing she recalled with any certainty was seeing Ahman fall from the cart. How could she
not
recall it? Her mind replayed the moment repeatedly. She feared that Ahman was now almost certainly dead. Even if the assassins had not finished him off, the harsh desert heat surely would have.

As she was pushed roughly through the carpeted corridors, her next thought was of Cornelius Quaint, and how he must be going out of his mind with worry by now at her disappearance – and then she remembered her words in the letter. If her younger self’s premonitions were correct, at that moment Cornelius was beset by a challenge of his own.

She prayed that he was having better luck than she was.

Hearing one of her captors knock loudly upon a heavy door in front of her, Destine was yanked to an abrupt stop. She had reached her destination, the end of the line – in perhaps more ways than one.

‘Enter,’ said Godfrey Joyce.

He watched the quartet file sombrely into his office. Ignoring the two assassins and oblivious to Nadir, it was Destine that he was most anxious to see. His quarry was older than he had imagined her to be, if he was honest, and she looked disappointingly lacking in spiritual prowess.

‘I think we can dispense with the blindfold now, gentlemen,’ Joyce said, greeting the Frenchwoman’s blinking eyes with a wide grin. ‘Madame Destine, I presume?’

‘Who are you? How do you know my name?’ she demanded. ‘What do you want with me? Where am I?’

‘Questions, questions!’ said Joyce. ‘But this is my party, so I get to go first. Mr Nadir, where did you find our guest?’

‘Just outside Umkaza, travelling with a companion in a horse-drawn cart,’ said Nadir.

The hazy fog that clouded Destine’s mind cleared as she recognised the German’s voice. ‘The man from the
Silver Swan
? What are
you
doing here?’

‘I am flattered you remember me, Fräulein,’ Nadir said with a swift nod. ‘And to answer your question…I work here.’

‘Nadir, you mentioned a companion. Where is this man now?’ asked Joyce.

‘Dead, sir,’ replied Nadir, ‘to the best of my knowledge.’

Fresh tears filled Destine’s eyes at the German’s words. Her legs lost their strength and she collapsed onto the floor lifelessly. Godfrey Joyce snapped his fingers and pointed to a chair opposite his desk. The two hooded assassins lifted Destine like a doll
and deposited her firmly into the seat. She slumped into the leather, her head in her hands.

‘You made the right decision for once, Nadir…any more prisoners in this room and I would need to lay on extra chairs,’ said Joyce, with a genial flutter to his voice. ‘Although I must admit, I had expected this prize to be a little more lucid. By the looks of the bedraggled old witch, she’ll be no use to anyone! And she’s supposed to tell the future?’ His grin was as thin as a sheet of paper. ‘It obviously didn’t do
her
much good, did it? Madame Fortune-Teller…I wish to see a demonstration of your clairvoyant gifts.’

Destine looked up through bleary eyes. ‘Clairvoyant? How do you know that?’

Godfrey Joyce gave a cheery smile. ‘Mr Nadir here has told me
such
wonderful tales about the little boat trip that the two of you shared together, and he’s also told me all about your wonderful abilities, Madame. I must admit to being rather intrigued. I’m dying to know how you do it. What is it? Tea leaves? Rune stones? Voices in your head?’

‘I once was clairvoyant, that much is correct,’ replied Destine, as she untied her headscarf and wiped away her tears. ‘But I am afraid that your little spy’s information is woefully out of date. I no longer have the ability to see the future. I have not been able to for some weeks now. And were I in possession of such ability, do you honestly believe that I would demonstrate it for the likes of you, monsieur?’

‘She lies, Herr Joyce,’ spat Nadir. ‘I have it from an impeccable source…someone who knows all about her little gift.’

‘Whoever it was – they were wrong!’ Destine said, throwing her headscarf down onto the floor angrily. ‘My abilities were taken from me. I am clairvoyant no more.’

‘
Nadir
…this had better not be a waste of my time,’ said Joyce.

‘She is lying!’ insisted Nadir. ‘You witch, I know all about you and what you can do, why do you not just admit it?’

‘I should have listened to Cornelius and had you thrown overboard, you treacherous little worm!’ Destine snapped.

‘Cornelius?’ Joyce’s ears pricked up. ‘Cornelius
Quaint
, by any chance?’ Destine’s awed expression confirmed his enquiry. ‘Now isn’t that a coincidence. Until a few moments ago I had never heard mention of that name in my entire life, and now I have heard it twice within an hour!’

‘What do you know of Cornelius?’ demanded Destine.

‘Not much, other than he seems to be making quite a reputation for himself.’

That sounds like Cornelius, thought Destine.

Joyce cackled victoriously. ‘Your friend is on his way as we speak – accompanied by the leader of the Clan Scarabs. Whoever this man Cornelius is, he certainly likes to mix in dangerous circles…dangerous for
him,
that is.’ He tapped out a rhythm on his desk with the blade of a golden letter-opener. By its side lay a neatly opened envelope. He plucked the note from inside and displayed it proudly. ‘My old friend Nastasi has warned me that Mr Quaint intends to cause me grief…so it seems only sporting of me to cause him some back.’

‘Did you just say…
Nastasi
?’ asked Destine, her mouth falling open. ‘That name…surely it cannot be? But that must mean…’ Her eyes caught sight of a plaque on Joyce’s desk. ‘You are Godfrey Joyce! You betrayed Aloysius Bedford!’

The smug grin disappeared from Joyce’s face in a flash and he shifted his position uncomfortably. ‘How do you know of my association with him?’

‘You are the man from his journal!’ Destine snapped. ‘The traitor!’

Joyce grabbed hold of the letter-opener and plunged its blade deep into his desk in anger. He stared at Destine with the ferociousness of a wild animal. With the mention of Aloysius Bedford’s name, it seemed that Madame Destine had just touched a raw nerve.

A very raw nerve indeed…

I
MPRISONED WITHIN A
holding cell beneath the British Embassy, Destine was seated on a long wooden bench with her back to the wall, silent and brooding. A tray of food had been placed outside the bars of her cell, but she was in no mood to eat. Be it fate, or circumstance, or even coincidence, something had caused her path to cross Godfrey Joyce’s. Hearing the scuffing of footsteps down the flight of stone stairs, she steeled her nerve as the large double doors at the far end of the cell block were wrenched open.

‘Not hungry, Madame?’ asked Godfrey Joyce, tapping his toe against the tray of untouched food on the floor. ‘That’ll do you no good, you know.’

‘I am not making a petition for release, monsieur,’ Destine said calmly. ‘I simply find it difficult to stomach food in your presence.’

‘Hoping your friend Quaint will come and save you?’ asked Joyce.

‘If Cornelius is on his way here, then he is not coming for me,’ said Madame Destine. ‘He is coming for you.’

‘You’re sure of that are you? You’ve certainly got a lot of faith in your companion. I must admit to being a little intrigued by
this Quaint fellow myself. Nastasi was rather vague. What is this man doing in Egypt?’

‘Hunting,’ Destine replied.

‘Hunting what, might I ask?’ Joyce enquired.

Madame Destine’s expression did not falter. ‘People like you.’

‘Well, I am afraid that he’ll find me a tricky prey to catch,’ Joyce said, smoothing his mutton-chop sideburns. ‘Fortune-teller or not, you are still just as good a bargaining chip as the fellow in the cell next door to you. Is that not right, boy?’ Joyce stepped back and slammed his hand against the metal bars of the cell next to Destine’s. For the first time, the Frenchwoman realised that she was not alone in her incarceration. ‘Your fate rests in your brother’s hands, young Scarab, but fear not…your time will come. Once you have outlived your usefulness I will have no hesitation in ordering your death.’ Joyce returned to Destine’s view. ‘So, Madame…what exactly is in that journal of Bedford’s anyway? And how much does your friend Cornelius know about it?’

‘He knows what I know,
ver
!’ Destine lied. Cornelius Quaint had absolutely no idea at all who Aloysius Bedford was, of course, but at that moment it was the only weapon she had at her disposal. ‘He knows all about your betrayal and he knows what happened in Umkaza!’

‘Does he now?’ mused Joyce. ‘Well, that puts an interesting slant on things. Nastasi didn’t tell me that. It seems my hard efforts for Umkaza to remain secret were for nothing. So what was Bedford to you anyway?’

‘A friend,’ Destine replied, lowering her head. ‘You pretended to help him, introducing your accomplice Nastasi, promising assistance, yet all the while all you cared about was stealing the Pharaoh’s Cradle from under his nose!’

‘The Pharaoh’s Cradle?’ Joyce took a step closer to the bars
of the holding cell. An inch of iron was the only thing separating him and Destine, but it might as well have been a mile. ‘Now
there’s
something I’ve not heard mention of for a long time. My, you’re just full of surprising information, aren’t you, my dear? I may have misjudged you, Madame. Why is it that it has taken you so long to find your voice? All this stuff happened two decades ago. It’s ancient history!’

‘Not to me,’ said Destine, grinding her teeth on the words. ‘I warned Aloysius not to trust you!’ She felt an itch somewhere at the back of her mind, the
vaguest
of recollections, the merest hint of a memory – confirmed by Aloysius’s words in his journal. ‘I warned him what you were planning, how you sought to betray him!’

‘You? So you can see the future, after all.’

‘
Non
, my clairvoyance is no more…but twenty years ago it was functioning perfectly!’ snapped Destine. ‘I saw what you were planning, monsieur. I saw that you were merely using Aloysius…and because of my intervention you never got your hands on that treasure!’

‘Whoever said it was the Cradle that I was after?’ asked Joyce. ‘But anyway, as I say, that was a long time ago now. It really doesn’t matter what you know about Umkaza…or what your friend Cornelius knows. No one cares any more!’

‘On the contrary, Monsieur Joyce,’ said Destine. ‘I am sure that the British government will not look upon you favourably once they learn the truth.’

‘It’s not the
British
that I’m fearful of, let me assure you,’ said Joyce. ‘And even if you
were
in a position to speak of it, who would believe an old crone like you over someone like me, hmm?’ He stared numbly at Destine as she began to laugh. ‘Am I missing something?’

‘I see now what my task was all along,’ Destine replied, a tranquil expression on her face. ‘My destiny was not just to shed light upon Aloysius Bedford’s betrayal…it was to expose
you
for the fiend you are! You think that you are safe here within the walls of your little castle, monsieur, but you are wrong. Soon it will all come crashing down.’

‘I hardly think so!’ Joyce protested. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you do seem to have a slightly
discoloured
appreciation of your present predicament.’ He leaned cockily against the bars of the holding cell, grinning widely as if a distant relative had just passed away and left him a small fortune. ‘I am dispatching you to Fantoma, to my employers, and I wonder how long it will take the torturers of the Hades Consortium’s jail to wipe that smile off your face.’

‘The Hades Consortium?’ asked Destine shaken.

‘I must leave you for a time whilst I check on the whereabouts of your companion, but I will return soon.’ Joyce turned swiftly towards the cell block’s exit, his voice trailing as he walked back up the stairs. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I think the walls of my little castle will be fortified for
quite
some time yet.’

As he slammed the heavy iron door, Destine felt an uncomfortable silence settle upon her. If Godfrey Joyce was employed by the Hades Consortium, it did not bear thinking about. Surely Aloysius was not mixed up with them back in 1833? Was that why Cornelius was en route? Had his line of enquiries led him right to Joyce’s door? Did Cornelius know of her fate? Would he arrive in time to save her?

‘Pondering your fate, Madame?’ said a familiar voice, as Heinrich Nadir peeled himself from the shadows.

‘I wondered what that bad smell was,’ said Destine.

‘I see you have picked up some of your English companion’s
bad habits since our last meeting onboard the ship, Madame,’ said Nadir slimily. ‘Now, like Cornelius Quaint, you are just another victim of the Hades Consortium.’

‘You also?’ demanded Destine.

‘But of course,’ said Nadir, with a bow. ‘Herr Joyce seems a most confident individual. Certainly not one of our more astute employees, but he has at least enabled me to arrange things according to my plan.’

‘Your plan?’ asked Destine. ‘I thought Joyce was in charge.’

‘So does Joyce,’ grinned Nadir. ‘But even though we share employers, I suppose you might say that I pay heed to a higher calling than he. Joyce is just like you – a means to an end…and that end is almost in sight.’

‘So that is why you have come down here?’ asked Destine. ‘To boast of your employers’ plot to poison the Nile?’

‘Not at all,’ Nadir said deftly. ‘I just wanted to look at you one more time. Before your imminent death, I mean. He has your eyes, I think.’

Destine was taken aback. ‘He? Of whom do you refer?’

‘Why…your
son
, of course,’ the German replied, watching the jolt of disbelief on Destine’s face. ‘Antoine’s lust for death is virtually unsurpassed in the annals of the Hades Consortium. I have worked by his side and watched him excel these past few years, he really is something to behold.’

Destine’s eyes narrowed. ‘You…you knew my son?’

‘Oh,
ja
…we are old friends,’ Nadir replied.

‘Do you not mean “were”?’

Nadir grinned shrewdly. ‘
Do
I?’

Destine’s heart missed a beat. Attempting to get a measure of what thoughts were running throughout the German’s mind, she ordered her sensitive feelings to examine this creature.
Her incredibly delicate senses detected numerous layers to him, many conflicting with each other.

‘I can see why Antoine would have liked you,’ she said, eventually. ‘You have such coldness in your heart…you are bereft of any feeling.’

‘You possess a marvellously sharp intellect, Frau Destine – yet you are not quite on the mark,’ Nadir replied, taking pleasure with every clipped syllable. ‘I do feel. Revenge, hatred, passion…I feel them all when I am in service to the Hades Consortium – and, soon, your companion Cornelius Quaint shall feel them too. If only you still retained your ability to see the future, Frau Destine, perhaps you could have warned him that he is about to walk into a trap.’