The Eleventh Plague (3 page)

A
HANDFUL OF MILES
from Cornelius Quaint’s position, standing outside a ramshackle old tavern on the outskirts of Wapping, a stunted figure hugged the shadows of the terraced street. More of rodent descent than human, his glassy eyes twitched this way and that in search of something (or some
one
) in particular. He pulled a fob watch from the inside pocket of his overcoat and cursed under his breath. Behind him, the nearby Thames lapped against the docks, and the gentle tolling of bells on the waterfront drifted in the air. The night was in full pitch. Midnight had long since passed, and all the warehouses along the docks were settled under a blanket of quiet, the perfect atmosphere for subterfuge. Like a changing of the guard, when those who walked in daylight retired to their homes, those who dwelt in twilight embraced the comfort of shadows. Hearing a stifled wheeze nearby, the man embraced the shadows that much deeper, and soon an ungainly red-haired fellow limped along the silent street towards him.

‘You are late, Herr Ferris,’ he said, speaking raw English laden with an unmistakable Germanic twang as he stepped into the wan light of a lantern affixed above the tavern’s entrance. His
face was unimpressive, neither particularly handsome nor memorably ugly. Heinrich Nadir was as unobtrusive a fellow as any man could be. The sort that you would walk past in the street without giving him a second thought – exactly how he preferred it.

Ferret’s bloodied face lit up, and he limped his way over to the man’s side. ‘Evenin’, Mr Nadir. Sorry I’m late. I had a bit of bother, courtesy of one Cornelius flippin’ Quaint,’ he said, as he picked a clot of dried blood from his nose and wiped it upon his lapel.

‘You will be suitably recompensed for your inconvenience, Herr Ferris. So, tell me: did Quaint take the bait?’ asked Nadir.

‘Good and proper! I did me old “I don’t know nuffin’” routine, and then told him that name you said. You should’ve seen his eyes light up!’ Ferret sniggered, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. ‘I wish I could see the look on his face when he finds out what’s comin’. But I’ve gotta say, mate…your lot are taking an awful risk, aren’t they? Lettin’ him get so close? Why not just do ‘im in now before he can cause any more trouble?’

‘Because I have my orders, Herr Ferris, that is why,’ Heinrich Nadir replied, his leather gloves squeaking as he clasped his gloved hands together. ‘My employer has had previous business with Cornelius Quaint. He knows the man is tenacious, and notoriously hard to kill, and he wishes him to be dealt with quietly. That is why I have been assigned to follow Herr Quaint’s every move. When his vessel departs for Cairo tomorrow, she shall also have
me
as a passenger. Thanks to my colleague Renard, I will be transporting the consignment of poison to Egypt personally…but whereas the toxin will arrive safely, Herr Quaint will not.’

‘So your lot get your poison, and Cornelius Quaint gets thrown
into the bargain, eh? Talk about killin’ two birds with one stone!’ laughed Ferret.

Nadir smeared a grin over his thin mouth. ‘Actually, Herr Ferris, the Hades Consortium prefers to set a cat amongst the birds…and let them kill each other.’

B
Y THE TIME
Cornelius Quaint and Prometheus returned to Grosvenor Park station, the party atmosphere had long since ceased. All that was left on the platform were some discarded banners and streamers – as well as Jeremiah, surrounded by empty bottles, snoring like a hibernating grizzly bear. The conjuror and the strongman retired to their bunks, with Quaint contemplating where the night’s discovery had taken him, and how much further he would need to go before he saw its end.

The following morning, Quaint and Madame Destine were up before the lark, and were packing to be ready for the long voyage. Butterflies swarmed in Destine’s stomach, and unremitting tears stained her soft cheeks as she said goodbye to her friends, flittering from one cabin to the next. Quaint was his usual insular self. The woes of his mind had yet to lift from the previous night’s foray into London’s backstreets.

Out on the station platform, the company of circus folk lined up alongside the steam train. Quaint spoke to them each of them
in turn, striding down the line with his hands linked behind his back like a sergeant major inspecting his troops. He shared a wink with Jeremiah, a tug of Peregrine’s beard and a warm smile with Yin and Yang. Quicker than he anticipated, he came to the final three performers in the line – the three he had dreaded bidding farewell to the most: Butter, Prometheus and Ruby. He spoke to them all at once, spreading his gaze between them, never letting his eyes linger long before switching to another, keeping one step ahead of his emotions.

‘Well…this is it,’ he said, tilting on the balls of his feet. ‘Butter…I leave our family in your very capable hands. They can be a rowdy bunch, but I have no doubt that they will continue to function as exemplarily for you as they do for me.’ Quaint cupped a hand to Butter’s ear. ‘If the clowns get out of hand, just threaten to set Rajah on them – that’s what I do.’ Butter sniggered into his hands as Quaint turned to Ruby. ‘My dear child, it is with my sincerest apologies that I was forced to miss the send-off that you so thoughtfully organised on my behalf last night. An urgent situation arose that commanded my full attention, but know that if there were any way that I could have avoided it, I most certainly would have. You are a very special young woman, my dear. You make me, and your old mentor Viktor, most proud.’ He leaned closer and pecked the knife thrower on the cheek, sending a crimson flush to Ruby’s cheeks. Quaint took a deep breath as he gripped Prometheus’s great hand. ‘And as for you, my friend…it’ll take some getting used to, you know, turning around expecting you to be watching my back and yet finding you absent. Fear not, though, the Madame has offered to step in and be my brawn should the need arise…of which there is a high probability, it must be said.’ Quaint took a step back, raising his voice to address the entire troupe. ‘Madame Destine and I will
only be away for a couple of months at the most. In that time, I expect each and every one of you to pull together like the family you are, and continue to do what you do best – namely, put on the best damn circus that this country has ever seen, bar none!’ Quaint lowered his head. ‘You may disperse to your duties.’

As the rabble broke ranks and rushed to shake Quaint’s hand and hug Madame Destine, the fortune-teller felt a great twinge inside her heart. The conjuror had made a vow that he would come back home to their family. She only hoped it would not become a vow that he was forced to break.

A short time later, Quaint was alone in his office onboard the circus locomotive, packing a large canvas bag. There was a gentle tapping against his door, almost too faint to be heard. The door opened slowly, Butter’s wizened faced poking gingerly around it.

‘Am I not intruding?’ he asked.

Quaint smiled. If ever there were something to lift his spirits, it was Butter’s cheerful demeanour. Although the cloud hanging over his head could not be ignored indefinitely, perhaps Butter might succeed in pushing it aside for a while.

‘No, Butter,’ replied Quaint, a trifle confused. ‘I mean, yes, Butter. That is to say: no, you are
not
intruding. Come on in.’

Butter entered, seating himself upon the edge of Quaint’s bunk. He pulled down the hood of his sealskin parka and fixed his dark eyes onto the conjuror’s like a hound awaiting a scrap at his master’s table.

‘Something on your mind, Butter?’ enquired Quaint.

‘I wish to speak prior to your departure. Is that agreeable to you?’ Butter asked, in his usual childlike fashion.

‘My Inuit friend, it is
most
agreeable to me,’ said Quaint, ‘as long as you don’t mind my continuing to pack as you talk. The Madame and I leave for Dover within the hour.’

‘Indeed, and it is of your journey far that I wish to speak,’ said Butter, toying with the fur trim of his sealskin parka, stoking his courage. ‘You say I now take care of circus whilst you are gone away, yes? I wish to know how long please?’

‘As long it takes,’ replied Quaint gruffly. ‘That poison could be halfway to Egypt by now, and my best bet is to try to stop it at the source. The Hades Consortium is a crafty pack of buggers, they’ll have covered their tracks. Thankfully, I know the country well. I spent a lot of my time there back when I was with…’ Quaint’s eyes dimmed as an old reminiscence passed through his mind. ‘Well…I mean, when I was a
younger
man.’

‘And what am I to do whilst you are gone, boss?’ the diminutive Inuit asked.

‘You carry on as normal, of course. You’re my deputy, Butter. I’m relying on you to hold the troops together in my absence.’

‘But…what if I cannot live up to your example, boss?’ asked Butter.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ smiled Quaint, with a pat on the Inuit’s head. ‘But you’ll be perfectly fine. You won’t be on your own. Ruby and Prometheus will be about if you need them, and there’s always Yin, Yang and Kipo too. And then of course if you get really desperate you can always rely on the clowns…although for the life of me I can’t imagine for what.’

Butter cocked his head. ‘But why must Madame Destine go also?’

‘To keep me from making a fool of myself, keep me on the right track, and to stop me from getting myself killed,’ Quaint said, with a grin. ‘Although, not necessarily in that order.’

Butter rose from the bunk and threw his arms around the
conjuror, his stature bringing him just past Quaint’s waist. The tall man looked down in surprise at such an unexpected display of affection.

‘I think that I will miss you much, boss,’ Butter sniffed.

‘As I will you, my Inuit friend,’ replied Quaint softly. ‘As I will you all.’

‘You will promise me something, yes?’ Butter asked, looking up at Quaint eagerly.

‘Anything!’

Butter gripped his fists tight together. ‘Numbers one, you come back alive.’

‘And number two?’ asked Quaint.

‘Numbers two, you punish the Hades Consortium for their bad plot.’

‘You have my word, Butter,’ said Cornelius Quaint, ‘on both counts.’

T
HE
D
ECEMBER WEATHER
pulled no punches as Madame Destine and Cornelius Quaint stepped out of the horse-drawn carriage onto the crowded concourse that ran parallel to Dover’s docks. The chill wind whipped in from the English Channel and scratched at Destine’s cheeks, forcing the Frenchwoman to tighten her white headscarf.

Quaint paid the cab driver and looked up at the ice-white SS
Silver Swan
moored to the wharf, one of the first passenger steamships in existence. The tickets had cost Quaint an arm and a leg, but he would have paid the price twice over if it secured a swift passage to Egypt. A sailing vessel would have taken far too long for his needs, whereas the
Silver Swan
boasted that she could do the trip in half the time. It was a proud boast, but one that Quaint was willing to place his faith in. After all, time was a commodity in very short supply. With the mention of Al Fekesh, Egypt’s most notorious port, it meant that intercepting the poison was an even greater priority. Little did the conjuror know that at that very moment, the poison was nowhere near Al Fekesh, or even anywhere near Egypt. In fact, it was as far away from Egypt as Quaint was.

Almost exactly to the yard, as it goes.

Heinrich Nadir pushed roughly past Quaint, jogging his elbow intentionally, as he bustled into the terminal dragging a large wooden trunk on a trolley.

Quaint gave him a scathing look. ‘Excuse
me
!’ he snapped, feeling Madame Destine’s grip tighten on his arm.

Nadir spun around and his beady eyes flicked up and down, measuring his broad-shouldered mark. ‘So sorry, sir! My trolley has a life of its own. You are sailing today onboard the
Silver Swan
I take it?’

‘
Oui
, that is so,’ Madame Destine confirmed.

‘
Ausgezeichnet
!’ said Nadir, rubbing his hands. ‘Then I shall at least be guaranteed scintillating company upon the long voyage.’

‘She gets that from me, thanks all the same,’ said Quaint, taking an instant dislike to the German – and rightly so.

Madame Destine, on the other hand, prided herself on her propriety, and duly curtseyed by way of an apology. ‘Please ignore my companion’s lack of manners, monsieur. We have had a long and uncomfortable journey from London, and his temper is most fraught.’

‘Ah! Well, I am certain that the journey will calm your temperament, sir,’ said Nadir to Quaint. ‘If there is one thing guaranteed to relax a body, it is sailing across the ocean. I wonder, Fräulein, perhaps we can meet for evening drinks after dinner? You and your fraught-tempered companion, of course.’

‘We should be simply delighted,
monsieur
,’ Destine replied, nudging the conjuror’s ribs with her elbow. ‘Would we not, my sweet?’

‘Oh, yes…simply de
light
ed,’ cooed Quaint.

‘My name is Heinrich Nadir,’ said the German, removing his hat.

‘Destine,’ Madame said, offering the back of her hand.

Nadir accepted, planting his lips upon it. ‘
Enchanté
, Madame Destine! Until tonight then.’ He picked up his trolley and idled away towards the check-in desk.

‘What a polite man,’ said Destine. ‘Most sweet.’

‘Yes, in that he’s liable to rot your teeth,’ Quaint said.

‘Cornelius, shame on you,’ scolded the Frenchwoman. ‘He was being charming, a concept that it would not kill you to acquaint yourself with once in a while.’

‘Oh, come on, Destine, don’t tell me that he took your fancy. The man was obsequious! Not to mention the fact that you’re old enough to be his—’

Madame Destine brandished her finger accusingly. ‘I may not be able to see the future any more, Cornelius, but if you complete that sentence I can accurately predict that you will be in a considerable amount of pain in your nether regions!’

Quaint held up his hands. ‘I was going to say…slightly older sister.’

‘And for the record, he did not take my fancy! I was merely commenting on how polite he was. Companioning you, good manners are a rare commodity.’

Quaint lifted their luggage, and they breezed on towards the administration desk inside the terminal building. Standing in the queue, the French fortune-teller struck up a conversation with an elderly couple and, in a heartbeat, they were discussing wine, the weather and whist. Madame Destine was soon thriving on sociality and conversation, happily chatting to anyone within earshot without the slightest thought. As her companion, Quaint was reluctantly dragged into the conversation, and he glanced to the heavens as a doddery old lady offered him a sticky boiled sweet. Something told him that surviving the trip with his sanity intact was going to be a far bigger challenge than defeating the Hades Consortium…