The Eleventh Plague (15 page)

Faroud’s displeasure exploded at Quaint’s interjection, and he aimed his rage at the stone wall separating them. ‘I am
warning
you for the last time, Mr Quaint! Shut your mouth or one of my guards will do it for you!’

‘It’s perfectly acceptable to hurt
me
then?’ rattled Quaint unabated. ‘But that isn’t so for the Professor, is it? You’ve got orders not to damage the merchandise, am I right? So what do you think will happen when the Consortium discovers that you’ve been a bad boy? They won’t be best pleased, you know.’

‘I told you to shut up, Quaint! This does
not
concern you,’ yelled Faroud, dusting down his vest to occupy his temper. ‘Nasbek! Arus!’

Immediately, the two Scarabs guarding Quaint entered the room.

Faroud boomed with all his might, his eyes bulging in their sockets. ‘Bring that loose-lipped Englishman in here. I want him where I can
see
him…and if he gives you any trouble,
please
hurt him.’

‘Yes, Aksak,’ agreed the first hulking Scarab.

‘At once, Aksak,’ agreed the other, a dour sort with a nasty scar bisecting his face.

Overhearing the command, Quaint’s mind worked quickly. He looked around for a weapon of some sort and snatched the absinthe bottle from the table. Unnoticed by his two fat-handed foes as they arrived, he thrust it behind his back, tucking it into his trouser waistband. The Scarabs grabbed him by each shoulder, and steered him roughly into the small room. With a painful jolt between his shoulder blades, he was cast unceremoniously onto the floor at Polly North’s feet.

‘Who’s this, someone else you’re trying to scare?’ asked Polly.

‘We’ve not been formally introduced,’ said Quaint, jovially. ‘My name is Quaint…Cornelius Quaint, and I am quite an admirer of your work, Professor.’

She looked different to how he had imagined her – not quite pretty, but not ugly by any standard. He noticed her high
cheekbones, firm lips and determined jaw. Younger than he had thought too. No wonder she had spent half her life in foreign countries. Quaint assumed that London’s scientific community would hardly approve of such a distraction in their midst.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked her.

‘Why is that any of your concern?’ Polly yapped back, causing Quaint to flinch.

‘I’m merely asking after your well-being, Professor,’ he replied. ‘We seem to have something in common.’

‘You’re an archaeologist too?’ asked Polly.

‘Actually I was referring to our present state of captivity. I’m no archaeologist, ma’am…merely a circus conjuror,’ said Quaint.

‘In a place like this?’ asked Polly.

‘I go where the work takes me,’ Quaint said.

‘From the looks of it, your show didn’t go down too well,’ Polly said, with a flick of her eyes towards Faroud and his two cohorts. ‘A tough audience, eh?’

‘I’ve had worse,’ said Quaint. ‘It seems that I’m an unwilling visitor just as you are, Professor.’

‘Considering the fact that I’m tied to a chair and bleeding, I hardly think you’re quite as unwilling as I am,’ said Polly, as she stared at the well-built, middle-aged man at her feet with a shock of silver-white curls and charming glint in the corner of his dark eyes. Was he really all he claimed to be, or was it a ruse? If so, why was he antagonising the Scarab leader in such a reckless manner? Whatever the reason, he was doing a fantastic job of occupying the Scarab’s attention, giving her time to work at the ropes binding her to the chair…

Quaint rose slowly to his feet as Faroud and his two Scarab guards watched his every move. ‘Answer me this, Aksak – if you
really
are
working for the Hades Consortium, why are they so interested in a British archaeologist? What’s it got to do with their plot?’

‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ Faroud replied.

‘Oh, really? I don’t believe you,’ snapped Quaint. ‘Whatever deal they’ve offered you, it’s not worth selling your soul for! Bargains with the Hades Consortium tend to be a little one-sided. Once they’ve finished poisoning the Nile, they’ll simply divide whatever’s left between them. You and your Scarabs will be fed to the lions!’

Faroud clearly found the very idea amusing, for his grin spread thinly and quickly across his mouth. ‘Mr Quaint, I do not believe a word of what you say. The Hades Consortium has power, this is true…but how could they possibly poison a body of water the size of the Nile? They would need more poison than a hundred camels could carry! I am no fool. I know your plan. Did you honestly think you could just walk into my camp and rescue Miss North on your own? I think she would do better choosing her friends more carefully in future.’

‘
Friends?
’ asked Polly, scornfully.

‘
Rescue?
’ asked Quaint, with an equal amount of derision.

Polly and Quaint exchanged swift glances and then glared at Faroud.

‘Wait, you don’t think he’s—’

‘She’s not my—’

‘But I’m not with
him
!’

‘I’m not with
her
!’

‘We’re not
together
!’ Quaint and Polly chorused in unison.

Faroud smiled. ‘Two troublesome Englanders in my camp at the same time…and you expect me to believe that it is just a
coincidence
?’

‘That’s
exactly
what it is!’ snapped Quaint, pushing his intense disbelief in coincidences aside. ‘Do you honestly think that I would risk my life to save
her
?’

Polly shot him a look of pure spite. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘No offence, Professor,’ Quaint said, with mock cheerfulness. ‘I’m just trying to keep things light and upbeat. It’s incredibly important in life-threatening situations to maintain a positive mental attitude. Would you not agree, Aksak?’

Faroud found himself nodding in agreement – and stopped it immediately. ‘Mr Quaint, I am finding your frequent attempts at humour most tiresome,’ he growled.

‘For once we agree on something,’ chimed in Polly.

‘Enough of this!’ said Faroud, slicing his hand through the air. ‘Whether you admit it or not, it is of no consequence! I am Aksak here…I am in charge, and I will not permit this pointless discussion any longer. I was hired to procure you, Professor North, and that is exactly what I have done.’ He turned to Quaint. ‘But you, Mr Quaint, are an irritating distraction that I have no time for. I do not care why you came here. Whether you truly
do
seek information about this supposed plot or whether you have come in some vain attempt to save the Professor – I do not care! Your time here is at an end.’ He clicked his fingers, and the two broad-built Clan Scarab guards approached Quaint menacingly.

The conjuror ached for the presence of Prometheus at his right arm. Not all the bravado in his arsenal could get him out of this one. ‘Listen to me, Faroud, this is important!’ he said, edging away from the advancing Scarabs. ‘I just need to know all I can about the Consortium’s plot before it’s too late!’

Faroud raised an eyebrow. ‘And what then? Let us suppose
that what you say is true…what could one man such as you possibly do to stop it?’

‘Anything within my power,’ replied the conjuror wilfully.

‘Then it is a shame that no one will witness your courage,’ said Faroud. ‘Nasbek! Arus! Kill this English dog.’

Just then, Polly saw her chance and made her move.

It all happened so quickly – far too quickly for Aksak Faroud or anyone else to stop her. With the Scarabs’ attention fixed firmly on Quaint, Polly slipped her slender wrists free from her ropes and, without a moment’s hesitation, she leapt through the open window.

Faroud watched it happen, although he could not quite believe his eyes. It seemed to take an extraordinary amount of time for the sight to register before he turned slowly to Cornelius Quaint – who shrugged, innocently.

‘Don’t look at me,’ he said.

‘Scarabs, assemble outside!’ Faroud yelled at the top of his lungs. ‘The female has escaped! Hunt her down. She will not go far on foot. Go!’ Hordes of heavy feet thundered from all directions at his command. ‘And you, Quaint – what is your next move to be? Thinking of fleeing after your friend perhaps?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Quaint said. ‘But considering that you’re not allowed to actually
hurt
her, what are you going to do to when you catch up with her? Give her a stern telling off?’

‘Perhaps that rule is no longer to be complied with,’ Faroud said bluntly. He clamped his long sinewy arms onto Quaint’s shoulders, squeezing so hard that the conjuror winced in pain. ‘If I were you, I would worry for my own neck! Clan brothers, ensure this prisoner is made uncomfortable. Do not kill him until I return…but beyond that, you are free to do as your whim
takes you. Just make sure that the dog can still talk…I have a lot of questions to ask him.’

With that, Faroud turned and exited the room, inflamed by the thrill of the hunt.

Within moments, Quaint heard a loud cacophony of neighing horses outside, and he turned to see Aksak Faroud and a gathering of Scarabs on horseback speeding past the open window. If he were to give chase (which, of course, he was considering) he would need to move fast. He turned as he heard a snigger behind him, and his heart began pumping a familiar blaze of energy around his body. He had no time for subtlety – ferocity was his weapon of choice.

‘When diplomacy fails, it’s time to fight dirty,’ Prometheus had once told him.

It was good advice.

The biggest of the Scarabs, Arus, stepped towards Quaint, his fists raised. ‘We shall grind your bones and feast on your entrails, Englishman!’ he snarled.

Quaint smiled. ‘Aren’t you going to say “Fee-fi-fo-fum”?’

The hulking Scarab swung at him with his massive fists, surprisingly quickly for a man of his size. The showman was taken aback and the punch felled him. Sprawled on his back, Quaint kicked out like a mule and the Scarab wailed as his nose cracked.

‘That’s going to bruise in the morning,’ Quaint quipped.

The other Scarab saw his chance and he leapt. The conjuror whipped the bottle of absinthe from his waistband and smashed it across Nasbek’s face. Like a shot partridge, the Scarab fell to the ground on top of Arus, who was still nursing his bloodied nose.

Quaint wiped his mouth. The fight was done. Had it not been for most of the camp’s Scarabs pursuing Polly, it might have been too big for him to handle.

‘You are nothing but an old man,’ said Arus, spitting blood.

‘
What
did you just say?’ Quaint asked, taken aback.

‘He called you an old man!’ said Nasbek. ‘You cannot escape. Our clan brothers will kill you before you get twenty yards!’

‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Quaint said. ‘They’ll be far too busy putting out the fire.’

‘Fire?’ asked Nasbek.

‘What fire?’ asked Arus.

Quaint reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver tinderbox. Opening it, he struck the flint and a spark hopped from the box into the puddle of anise-smelling liquid spread on the floor. The flames followed the trail of alcohol, snaking across the room towards Arus and Nasbek as if they were seeking them out consciously. Arus howled as the fire caught hold of his robes. Soon, Nasbek joined him in the twisting, twirling dance as they tried to pat out the flames. The fire skipped to the walls, setting the door alight. Within seconds, the room was engulfed and the doorway out was searing with flames.

Quaint took the only exit available and followed the route used so successfully by the Professor. He leapt out of the window, landing uncomfortably on the veranda outside. He could hear yells and screams behind him as the tavern erupted in a crescendo of alarm, the fire spreading quickly to other parts of the building.

Heading to the makeshift stables, Quaint yanked the long pole that the Scarabs’ horses were tethered to, and it fell free of its mooring. He clapped his hands and stomped his feet to frighten the horses, and they scattered in all directions, all except for a
tan-coloured horse. Heaving himself onto the animal’s back, he looked at the trail of dust rising on the horizon. Faroud was right. The Professor would not get far on foot.

Quaint recalled a word that seemed to induce a marvellous effect on horses, yelling ‘
Az-Toray
!’ into the beast’s ear.

C
ORNELIUS
Q
UAINT STREAKED
through the Bara Mephista valley in hot pursuit of Aksak Faroud’s posse. Following the track that snaked its way between the towering, sand-covered mountains, he risked a glance over his shoulder. A gang of Scarabs tumbled out of the tavern, plumes of thick, dark smoke spewing from every window. One thing was for sure: he had blown any chance of getting information out of Faroud now. He followed the dust from the Scarabs’ horses up a gentle incline until his eyes lost sight of it. The sky was darkening, and visibility was already poor. He could see the tips of a large mountain range in the near distance, framed against the burning purple-orange sunset, and he urged his horse on further, trying to beat the curve of the hill’s rise. As the ground dipped sharply, Quaint saw something that made his stomach lurch.

Only fifty yards ahead of him was a herd of tethered horses, plus a group of four dismounted Scarabs standing on guard outside a large cave at the foot of the shadowy mountains. The incline of the hill had masked just how big the mountain range was and it fell deeply into the low-lying ground, spreading out across the landscape as far as the eye could see.

Quaint dismounted and quickly retreated down the incline to find a better vantage point to observe the Scarabs’ movements. He would be of no use to the Professor if he got himself caught. Keeping as low to the cooling sand as his broad bulk would allow, he crawled along the ground on his elbows. Soon, he had circled around behind the men. It was then that he was faced with a conundrum – how was he to get past four armed Scarabs without being seen? He needed a diversionary tactic, something to thin out the odds, and as he noticed the gathering of horses tethered together nearby, a semblance of an idea struck him…

The four Clan Scarabs froze stock still as the frantic neighing of panicked horses filled the air all around them. A maddened herd – tethered together at the neck with their tails aflame – charged across the desert trailing plumes of stench-ridden smoke. The Scarabs stood open-mouthed. Despite their best efforts to translate the sight, an answer was not immediately forthcoming.

‘What
was
that?’

‘Demons!’

‘Do not be stupid. It was not
demons
, Mukhtar!’

‘But, Temis, they were creatures aflame like beasts from hell!’

‘They were our horses, you fool!’ said the more sensible of the Scarab quartet. ‘If we do not get them back the Aksak will set
our
tails alight! You two stay here and keep your eyes keen.’ The Scarab nudged the arm of a slight younger man on his right. ‘Alifah, you can come with me!’ The two men sprinted into the desert wasteland, following the golden glow that lit up the dusk in the distance.

From his position, Quaint grinned satisfactorily as he clipped shut the lid of his tinderbox. Now there were only two Scarabs left for him to deal with.

Much better odds.

He moved swiftly, rising from amongst the grasses, smashing his formidable mass into his foes. The dumbstruck Scarabs fell to the ground in a clumsy mess of sprawling limbs. As they dizzily tried to clamber to their feet, Quaint snatched up a discarded sword from the dust.

‘You chaps have two choices,’ he said, switching the sword from Mukhtar to Temis in time with his words. ‘Either you can take a leaf out of your friends’ books and run like mad…or you can stay here and tussle with me. But I warn you; I know how to use a sword, and whereas one of you might get lucky, the other one will surely taste the blade. Now, which one of you is going to be the lucky one?’

Mukhtar and Temis swapped nervous glances.

‘Horses?’ asked Mukhtar.

‘Horses,’ confirmed Temis.

They scrambled to their feet, and soon were just specks in the distance, their feet pummelling against the sand frenetically.

Quaint looked thoroughly pleased with himself. ‘Not bad for an old man.’

In the cave behind him, he could hear whooping and jeering, and he was returned roughly to the here and now. The Clan Scarabs were on a hunt for their quarry and the chase had started without him…