The Eleventh Plague (10 page)

I
NSIDE THE CARPET
store, Madame Destine sat upon a stool at a large, circular table and looked around. The decor was exactly how her mind felt at that particular moment – hotchpotch. Virtually every scrap of wall-space was covered with swatches of carpets and ornate rugs, all arranged in a bizarre kind of mosaic. Huge rolls of varying types of carpet were stacked up against one of the walls in a long line.

Destine occupied herself by scanning every square inch for anything that might give her some clue as to who this man was…and how he seemed to know her. She found nothing, and as she heard a gentle melodic hum emanating from the rear of the store, she prayed that a little illumination would be forthcoming.

Accompanied by a delicious smell, the man approached the table carrying a wooden tray laden with warm cinnamon bread, fresh butter and a jar of conserve. A dented metal teapot sat upon the table, and the man nudged it carefully to one side in order to put the food down. Destine had not spoken a single word, but the stranger had done enough talking for the both of them. He chattered away merrily, barely pausing to take a breath.
The permanent smile etched upon his bearded face never waned, and his stubby moustache seesawed when he spoke.

‘How are you feeling now, Madame?’ he asked.

‘My neck is a little sore, but nothing appears to be broken,’ Destine replied, ‘apart from my memory, it seems. I must admit to being slightly confused.’

‘That was a nasty scare, but nothing that some tea and a slice of cinnamon bread will not fix, ah?’ the man said, nodding to the table. ‘I had no idea you were coming, dear Destine, why did you not write?’

Destine gathered handfuls of her gown within her fists, squeezing them tightly, trying to wring out an answer to her confusion. The little Egyptian had buzzed around like a miniature whirlwind ever since she had set foot inside his store. So much so that she was barely able to concentrate on the muddle that was her memory.

‘Monsieur, I am sorry to be so blunt. You have been very kind, but I must ask…do I
know
you?’ She watched the man’s kind expression waver. ‘I think that you might have me confused with someone else. Or perhaps it is I that am confusing myself for someone else, I do not know! I have never seen you before in my life, yet you claim to know me. I ask myself how this can be.’

‘You have been through a very frightening episode, ah? It is no wonder you are confused. Here!’ The stranger offered Destine a plate of warm cinnamon bread, to which she nodded her thanks and helped herself to a slice, spreading a thick blanket of butter upon it. All the while, the Egyptian’s smile never waned. ‘I have missed that appetite of yours.’

‘Missed? Again, monsieur – where have we met before?’ asked Destine. ‘Who are you, what is your name? Where am I?’

The man sighed in mock frustration. ‘Okay, I will play along if it makes you happy! My name is Ahman Nadim.’ Ahman straightened the bow tie at his plump neck. ‘This is my carpet store…modest, though it is. And you, my dear lady, are Madame Destine Renard.’

His words made Destine’s heart miss a beat.

‘
R-Renard?
’ she stuttered.

This man Ahman knew her, all right. The very fact that he was aware of the name ‘Renard’ was proof of that. She had not used that name in a long while. Not since her son had tainted it so darkly. That still left the question: who was this mysterious fellow? How could he know such a private detail about her? She had never set eyes upon him before. Had she?

‘
Pardonnez moi, monsieur
,’ Destine said, considering each word carefully. ‘I am having difficulty recalling. Have you ever travelled to the European continent? Perhaps I have done a reading of your fortune?’

‘No, not me,’ Ahman replied. ‘I am not one who cares to know what life has in store. I shall surely find out eventually. What is the hurry, ah?’

‘But…if you have not seen me in the circus, then how do you
know
me?’ asked Destine, her manners pushed to their limits by her impatience. ‘Please…I have had a simply dreadful time in this country since I arrived here. I have been assaulted, I have been robbed – twice, if you include by my chauffeur – and I was almost killed by a runaway horse. Please tell me that I am not living a nightmare!’

Ahman slid his ample backside off his stool, and stood at her side, resting his hand upon hers. ‘Is it true, then?’ he asked fondly.
‘You really do not remember? You do not recognise me? Then…why are you here?’

‘By accident,’ replied Destine.

Ahman frowned deeply. ‘But you once told me that there
are
no accidents.’

‘Well, apart from this one, obviously,’ said Destine. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, monsieur, but although you know me, I have no recollection of you…although I pray you are a friend…for I am in desperate need of one right now.’ She took a bite of the cinnamon bread and immediately a flush of colour returned to her cheeks – as did a smile. ‘
Mon Dieu
, this bread is superb! How ever did you come by this recipe?’

Ahman scratched at his bald head, almost guiltily saying, ‘You gave it to me.’

Destine was beginning to feel as if she had walked into this conversation halfway through. ‘You are mistaken, sir. You must be! I arrived for the first time in Egypt just this morning!’

‘I do not wish to distress you, my dear…but it is you that are mistaken. Perhaps I need to contact Agra’s medical man to ensure you did not strike your head when you fell,’ said Ahman, his bewilderment now almost equalling Destine’s. ‘We
have
met before…many times. When I saw you moments ago, to be quite honest I was most relieved. I have waited so patiently for so very long for you to come back. I hoped that I would finally learn the answer to that old mystery of yours.’

‘Mystery? What mystery?’ Destine asked.

‘I will show you,’ chuckled Ahman.

With that, the carpet trader disappeared behind a curtain into the backroom, only to return a few moments later carrying a small wooden box in his stout fingers. ‘If it is answers that you
seek, perhaps this contains the missing pieces, ah?’ said Ahman, as he ruffled through the contents of the box. He beamed a wide smile as he produced an age-stained envelope, handing it to Destine. ‘For you, I believe.’

Destine looked at the envelope as if it were an illusion the likes of which she had seen Cornelius perform a dozen times. It was incredibly old. The ink was faded, but still just about legible to her eyes, and upon inspecting the envelope closely, she came across three startling discoveries.

One: the letter was unopened.

Two: the letter was addressed to her.

And three:

‘
This is my handwriting!
’ she gasped. Not even Cornelius could have managed an illusion this good. ‘What manner of trickery is this?’

‘No trickery, my dear! The letter simply is what it
is
,’ said Ahman. ‘Why do you not open it up and read what lies within?’

Destine’s hands were shaking, and her heart was beating out of time. As she slid her finger under the envelope’s flap, she could almost feel the stability of her world shuddering slightly, like the rumble of distant thunder. She brushed her fingers over the letter – written in French – and gathering her strength, she translated aloud:

‘23rd October, 1833

My dearest Destine,

If you are reading this note, then my visions were correct, and I have returned to Egypt to complete the task that I have been forced to abandon. Two nights past, I was witness to a terrible massacre, and I must leave word of what transpired. I fear that I am pursued, and have no choice but to lead you to the truth.
I have placed three markers along the path that will take you there.

‘My employer, Aloysius Bedford, has been betrayed, and tricked into disturbing something in the desert – something that was not meant to be disturbed. I watched many men die as a result, and due to my connectivity to others’ emotions, I felt every death as clearly as if it were my own. Such an abundance of misery has caused my mind to cloud the memory, and even as I inscribe these words to you, I can feel it slipping from my grasp. I fear that if I do not commit this task to paper all might be forgotten. My premonitions have warned me that dire things are to come unless you succeed in this quest, but I have faith in you, Destine, faith in the future…in my future.

‘Yours, Destine.

XXX

‘PS. If by some miracle my dear Cornelius is still alive, give him a kiss for me.’

Madame Destine’s quivering fingers laid the letter upon the table. It was like reading a message from a complete stranger, but a stranger who was as close to her as a twin sister. The words – her
own
words – carried such a strong resonance within her mind, yet still they failed to fan the embers of memory.

‘I
was
here…in Egypt, some twenty years ago…just as you claimed, Ahman? So why can I not recall it? This letter speaks of events I have no memory of. I cannot even remember
writing
it, let alone witnessing them. It speaks of a task…a path to the truth…truth about this man’s betrayal. How can I possibly know where to begin if my memory draws a blank?’

If Destine were to accept the facts as presented, her younger self had been to this country before. Something had happened,
something bad, and her memory of the event was clearly waning. Yet she had known that she would one day return to complete the task. As fantastic as it sounded, the letter was undeniable proof of that. But she had not returned to answer her younger self’s call…she was in Egypt to defeat the Hades Consortium. The two were unconnected, surely. What were the chances of her coming to Egypt twenty years later, being lost in a labyrinth in the bazaar, stumbling into Ahman’s carpet store to pick up the pieces of this puzzle?

The carpet trader let the silence get comfortable before he spoke.

‘You really have no recollection of this? Nor when you came to me in distress, begging me to keep the letters safe?’ Ahman asked. ‘Then we must help you remember, my dear Destine, for if I understand its meaning correctly this letter is far more than just a letter…it is a warning.’

‘A warning? A warning of what?’ Destine asked.

‘In your own words, Madame, of dire things to come,’ said Ahman.

T
ROTTING ALONG A
sandy track that led from Hosni town into the flatlands, Cornelius Quaint was sat astride a mule that was past its prime to say the least. He looked down at his beast of burden, sheer disgust evident on every inch of his face. Alexandria rode next to him on a dapple-grey horse, taking amusement from his discomfort. The dusty track presented a large pile of white rocks with a single palm tree growing between them, and it seemed an excellent place for them to rest. Alexandria dismounted first, and took a large blanket and a canteen of water from a pack on her horse’s saddle.

Quaint glanced at her as the gentle breeze toyed with her pirouetting curls, and he was reminded of their time together in the past. What they had shared was fleeting, what some might call a whirlwind romance. Of course, the problem with whirlwinds is that often they tend to leave a lot of devastation in their wake.

Alexandria tapped Quaint’s shoulder, offering him the canteen of water.

‘You were miles away,’ she said with a smile.

‘Actually, I was right here,’ replied Quaint, taking the canteen.
‘Just not right now. So, what about you, Alex? I’m surprised to see you are still in Hosni. I would have thought someone would have come along and offered to take you away from it all by now.’

‘Where would I go, Cornelius?’ Alexandria asked. ‘Egypt is my home. It is where my heart is…and once was. All my memories are here. Both good and bad.’

Quaint licked his lips, wondering how best to broach a thorny subject resting upon them. ‘So…I take it that you’ve still had no word from your father? It’s been so long. I’d hoped that he would have contacted you by now.’

‘So had I…once. But like the Nile eel, hope is a difficult thing to hold onto when it wishes to be free of your grasp.’ A coil of her hair fell down across Alexandria’s eyes and she valued its concealment. ‘I will never know what the hardest choice for my father was – deciding to
leave
…or deciding never to return.’

Quaint rubbed furiously at the back of his neck. ‘But I just can’t fathom the man! More than my old tutor – we were friends! Your father was an intelligent man who loved his family dearly. I can’t believe he’d just simply up-sticks and vanish without so much as a word.’

‘Why not?’ Alexandria asked. ‘You did.’

Quaint reeled with the blow. ‘That’s different.’

‘Your memory of him seems to be at fault, Cornelius. My father was far too busy with his obsession to worry about anyone’s feelings. He cared more for digging around old desert tombs than being with his own family. Evidently…that is fact.’ Alexandria fought back the urge to cry. She could not dare let her anger falter, for then it would only be replaced by sadness and she would not allow that. ‘Joran was but a year old when my father left. He has no memory of him. He carries no anger inside his
heart and I envy him for that. But my own anger is not something that I can discard so easily.’ Alexandria’s tone may well have been cold, but the emotion was all the more evident by its absence. ‘What is past is past. My father is gone. If he wanted to return, then he would have already done so.’

‘Unless he was unable to,’ offered Quaint, hoping that Alexandria had at least considered that fact. ‘Did you know that he was the reason that I came to Egypt in the first place? At college, his teachings ignited a passion for this country’s history that still burns within my heart to this day. He was the best tutor that I ever had. If not for him…I would never have met you.’

‘So now I have
two
things to blame him for,’ Alexandria said.

‘Twenty years is a long time to hold a grudge, Alex, especially against someone you can’t make amends with…and I don’t mean me, I mean your father, by the way. If you offer hatred shelter inside your heart, it will only end up taking permanent residence there. It will eat you alive…one little piece at a time. Believe me, I happen to be somewhat of an expert in that field.’

‘My
hatred
is the only thing I have left to remember him by, Cornelius, do you not see? It is my only protection,’ said Alexandria.

Quaint reached over and brushed the underside of her chin, forcing her to catch his eye. All her anger towards him had subsided now that she had found a more suitable target. She looked so fragile. ‘It’s not your protection, Alex – it’s your prison. You’re incarcerated by your hatred every day that you permit it to shackle your thoughts.’

‘And so let us turn this conversation to
your
shackles, Cornelius…namely your altruistic streak,’ Alexandria said, thankful for a change of subject matter. ‘This task to save Egypt…why must it fall on your shoulders? Surely there are others in a position to
help. What about the consulate in Cairo, what did they say when you informed them about this plot?’ Seeing the blank look in Quaint’s eyes, she stood swiftly from the blanket and kicked at a tuft of sandy grass. ‘You have not even
told
them? Why do you think you are the only one who can put things right in the world?’

‘Because sometimes I am!’ flashed Quaint.

‘You have to fix every damn thing that is broken, letting what is important slip through your fingers!’ Alexandria fumed. ‘That is why you ran away all those years ago. Something came to sway your attention, something that you could not leave alone, and you just upped and ran.’

‘This isn’t like that, Alex…it’s my responsibility!’ said Quaint, rising to his feet.

‘It is your belligerent nature, more like!’

‘I did not get involved in this plot to buff my ego, Alex – someone involved
me
! All I’m trying to do is make sure that he doesn’t succeed! I want to wipe his stain from my memory once and for all. Whether you believe me or not, it doesn’t matter…it is what I believe, Alex, and I won’t fail in it. I cannot fail and I cannot relent, for there is no one else to pick up the pieces! But I can’t do it alone…that is why I came to you.’

Alexandria reached out a trembling hand for him. ‘I…I am sorry, Cornelius. I am being selfish. You are right…this is not about us. Seeing you again just took me by surprise, it…it brought some old feelings back to the surface. Forgive me.’

Quaint ruffled his hair. ‘No, it’s all right, Alex…I deserved it. And it’s not as if I’ve not fought this argument before. Destine feels much the same as you do about my belligerent nature…but she knows that I do these things because it’s just something that’s a part of me. I can’t ignore it…and I can’t ignore what brought me to Egypt.’

Alexandria unclenched her jaw, and gave Quaint a gallant smile.

‘I said that I would help you find someone who might be able to tell you something and here we are, for I did not choose this location by accident.’ Her eyes skirted across the horizon, down into the valley below their feet. ‘If there is any talk of criminal activities taking place in Egypt
, they
will know. The only question is whether you are brave…or foolhardy enough…to ask them.’